Hh 


i\ 


tlBRA 

OF  THE 

UNIVEi«§ITY 


MEN    BORN    EQUAL 


H  Wcwel 


BY 


HARRY   PERRY   ROBINSON 


When  none  icas  for  a  Party 
But  all  were  for  the  State 

And  tlie  Rich  man  helped  the  Poor 
And  the  Poor  man  loved  the  GreaV 

Maoaulay 


NEW    YORK 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

1895 


Copyright,  1895,  by  Harper  &  Brothers. 
All  rights  reserved. 


IN 

GRATITUDE  TO,  AND  REVERENCE  FOR 

THE    MEMORY    OE 

JAMES   H.  HOWE 

THAN  WHOM  THIS  COUNTRY  HAS  LOST 
NO    BETTER    CITIZEN,  OR    NOBLER,  GENTLER    MAN 


M637346 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    AN    AFTERNOON    CALL 1 

II.    FRIENDS    AND    ACQUAINTANCES 13 

III.  THE    HOUSE    IN    FOURTH    STREET 28 

IV.  OVER    THE    DINNER-TABLE 39 

V.     BEHIND    THE    SCENES 55 

VI.    TWICE    TWO    AND    ONE    OVER 66 

VII.     A    MAN    OF    AFFAIRS 81 

VIII.    THE    APOSTLE    AND    THE    MULTITUDE 91 

IX.    LOOKING    INTO    THE    GULF 101 

X.    THE    POWER    OF    THE    PRESS 117 

XL    AT    CROSS-PURPOSES 129 

XII.    THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE    STRIKE 142 

xiii.    my   sister's   KEEPER 154 

XIV.     AN    EVIL    GOD 169 

XV.    THE    GATHERING    OF    THE    STORM 185 

XVI.    A    TALK    AT    THE    CLUB 198 

XVII.    BETWEEN    THE    CUP    AND    THE    LIP 211 

XVIII.    THE    FOUNDLING 225 

XIX.    A    HOME-COMING 238 

XX.    ON    THE    VIADUCT 254 

XXI.    IN    THE    VALLEY    OF    SHADOW 265 

XXII.    THE    INQUEST 274 

XXIII.  HORACE    PUTS    HIMSELF    ON    RECORD 287 

XXIV.  THE    WHIRLIGIG    OF    TIME 304 

XXV.    A    TRIP    TO    THE    CEMETERY 321 

XXVI.    MY    FRIENDS    THE    ENEMY 332 

XXVII.    UNSTABLE    AS    WATER 345 

XXVIII.    REAPING    THE    WHIRLWIND 360 

XXIX.    ON    THE    SLEEPING-CAR 368 


MEN   BORN   EQUAL 


AN    AFTERNOON    CALL 


"  It  is  not  worthy  of  you,"  she  said,  petulantly.  "  I  am 
sure  that  it  is  not ;  and  you  ought  to  know  it !" 

She  was  standing  just  inside  the  large  bow-window,  the  lace 
curtains  (not  white,  but  ecru)  hanging  on  either  side  of  her. 
Facing  the  window,  she  drummed  impatiently  on  the  glass 
with  her  fingers  as  she  spoke.  The  man  whom  she  addressed 
without  looking  at  him  stood  some  two  yards  behind  her, 
near  the  middle  of  the  room,  half  leaning  on  the  back  of  a 
large  rug-covered  arm-chair. 

"  I  think,"  he  said,  quietly,  "  that  there  are  a  good  many 
things  in  politics  that  you  do  not  understand." 

"  Of  course  there  are,"  she  retorted,  "a  great  many  things. 
But  there  are  also  a  good  many  that  I  know1''  (and  she  rapped 
the  window  sharply  to  emphasize  the  word)  "  without  having 
to  understand  them." 

"  I  can  believe  that,"  he  laughed  ;  "  but  what  is  it  in  this 
case  that  is  so  poor  as  to  be  unworthy  of  me  ?" 

"What?  Why,  all  of  it!  The  cause  (as  you  call  it)— the 
party — the  men  whom  you  associate  with — their  whole  be- 
havior— everything — nothing  !"  She  had  turned  to  face  him, 
and  spoke  vehemently,  throwing  out  her  right  hand  ner- 
vously as  she  enunciated  each  successive  count  in  the  com- 
prehensive if  disjointed  indictment. 

His  quietness  of  voice  and  manner  was  in  sharp  contrast  to 
i 


2  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

her  warmth.  By  the  half-amused,  half -admiring  look  on 
his  face  it  might  have  been  conjectured  that  instead  of  con- 
tinuing the  discussion  he  would  have  preferred  to  tell  her 
how  charming  she  looked,  as  she  stood,  flushed  and  alert, 
framed  in  the  draperies  and  the  sunlight.  But  what  he  said 
was  : 

"  Well,  as  to  the  cause,  you  flatter  me,  of  course,  in  think- 
ing that  I  am  too  good  for  any  cause ;  but  this  cause  is  the 
cause  of  the  people,  and  I  cannot  imagine  that  that  is  un- 
worthy of  anybody.  As  to  the  party  and  the  men — I  confess 
that  '  sometimes  their  conduck  isn't  all  as  fancy  paints  ;'  but 
the  best  and  noblest  cause  accumulates  all  sorts  of  follow- 
ers. We  would  rather  have  all  the  good  men  ;  but  if  the 
bad  ones  come  too,  how  can  we  say  them  '  nay '  ?  The  cause 
itself  in  some  measure  dignifies  them.  Besides,"  he  added, 
"  the  bad  man's  vote  counts,  too." 

"  But  why  have  you  all  the  bad  men  and  none  of  the 
good  ?"  she  broke  in.  "  Why  is  everybody  whom  we  know 
against  you  ?  There  is  papa  and  Judge  Jessel  and  Mr.  Car- 
rington  and  Major  Bartop  and — " 

"  Major  Bartop,"  he  said,  "  is  a  Democrat.  I  can  hardly 
say  that  he  is  with  us  now,  because  since  the  fusion  he  has 
taken  no  active  part  in  politics.  He  has  been  very  active  in 
the  past,  however — was  in  Congress  and  ran  for  governor 
once,  and  was  generally  conspicuous  as  a  partisan.  Now,  it 
is  true,  he  holds  aloof." 

"  Of  course  he  does  !  How  could  he  help  it  ?  Don't  you 
think  that  the  withdrawal  of  a  man  like  that,  whose  tradi- 
tions are  on  your  side,  is  an  even  stronger  condemnation  than 
if  he  had  been  always  opposed  to  you?  AVhy  don't  you 
hold  aloof,  as  you  call  it,  too  ?" 

"  The  case  is  different,"  he  said.  "  Major  Bartop  has  won 
his  spurs.  He  is  twenty  years  older  than  I,  and  his  record 
and  his  place  are  assured.  I  have  still  to  win  mine.  It 
would  be  more  fair  if  you  should 

"' .    .    .    with  Fortune  chide 
The  guilty  Goddess  of  ray  harmful  deeds, 
That  did  not  better  for  my  life  provide 
Than  public  means,  which  public  manners  breed.' " 


AN    AFTERNOON    CALL  3 

"  I  don't  know  who  your  poet  is — " 

"  It  is  Shakespeare." 

"  Well,  I  don't  care !  It  does  not  sound  like  him,  and 
you  have  probably  twisted  him  from  his  context." 

"  I  confess  that  it  is  reasonable  to  believe  that  Shakespeare 
was  not  alluding  to  American  politics  ;  but,  as  Henry  James 
would  say,  the  '  immitigability  of  our  moral  predicament '  is 
about  the  same  in  all  ages,  and  Shakespeare's  dilemma  still 
fits  me.  He  took  to  deer -stealing  and  a  disreputable  life 
about  London  playhouses.     I  have  to  wallow  in  politics." 

"  That  is  not  true,"  she  said,  earnestly.  "  You  do  not  mean 
what  you  say,  and  are  doing  yourself  an  injustice.  You  are 
not  in  politics  for  the  sake  of  making  a  livelihood.  That  is 
the  wretched  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  absurd  part  of  it. 
You  have  taken  up  the  line  that  you  have  because  you  be- 
lieve it  to  be  your  duty.  If  you  were  only  a  dilettante — an 
idler  who  was  playing  at  politics  to  pass  the  time — then  it 
would  not  matter.  Neither  I  nor  anybody  would  care.  But 
you  are  not.  You  have  entered  into  it  with  your  heart  and 
soul,  and  you  have  entered  on  the  wrong  side.  This  is  the 
misery  of  it !" 

Horace  Marsh  dropped  his  jesting  tone.  He  moved  away 
from  the  arm-chair  and  stood  with  his  hands  clasped  behind 
him,  and  looked,  not  at  his  interlocutrix,  but  over  her  head 
and  beyond  into  the  sunlight  and  the  blue  sky. 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,"  he  said.  "  I  was  not  speaking  seri- 
ously, and  I  am  in  politics  because  I  believe  it  to  be  my 
duty.  It  is  not  a  merely  local  question — not  a  question  of 
Major  Bartop — of  your  father — of  me,  Miss  Holt.  It  is  not 
confined  to  this  city — to  this  State — to  this  country.  Nor  is 
it  of  this  century  only.  It  is  the  old,  eternal  conflict  which 
has  torn  all  communities  and  all  peoples  since  man  had  the 
last  of  power  and  the  lust  of  life."  He  spoke  slowly,  paus- 
ing once  in  a  while  to  choose  a  word,  and  solemnly,  as  one 
conscious  of  a  responsibility  resting  upon  his  words.  "  It 
was  the  cause  of  those  who  were  in  bondage  in  Egypt,  and  it 
was  the  cause  of  the  black  man  in  the  South.  It  is  the  cause 
of  the  voiceless  millions  all  over  the  world  and  of  every  age 
— or  if  not  voiceless,  they  might  as  well  be  so,  for  they  are 


4  MEN    BORN   EQUAL 

spent  with  labor  and  weak  with  lack  of  food,  and  their  voices 
reach  only  to  ears  that  are  deaf,  on  which  they  beat  in  vain. 
They  are  the  millions  of  the  cities  and  of  the  farms — the 
granger  and  the  yokel,  the  ryot  and  the  fellah — by  whatever 
name  those  may  be  known  who  water  the  furrows  with  the 
sweat  of  their  faces ;  the  starving  '  submerged  tenth,'  the 
canaille,  the  dock-laborer  of  London  and  the  mechanic  out  of 
work — all  they  who  crowd  the  alleys  and  the  tenements  and 
the  poor-houses  of  great  cities.  Beneath  the  crust  of  every 
civilization  since  the  world  began  there  has  been  the  same 
teeming,  reeking  misery.  Sometimes  it  bubbles  to  the  sur- 
face, in  bubbles  which  burst  in  dynamite  and  blood.  Some- 
times the  whole  body  of  it  rises  in  upheaval  and  shatters  the 
crust,  so  that  the  barricaded  streets  run  red  and  palaces  go 
down  in  flames.  Sometimes  leaders  arise  who  are  able  by 
the  more  peaceful  process  of  the  ballot  to  make  some  fissure 
in  the  crust — an  air  space,  through  which  breath  and  sunlight 
come  for  a  while  to  the  mass  below.  But  the  struggle  and 
the  seething  poverty  never  end.  It  seems  as  if  now,  for  a 
decade  or  two  past,  the  terrible  forces  beneath  the  surface 
have  been  working  towards  revolution — not  here  only,  but 
in  all  countries  of  the  world  together — as  they  have  never 
worked  before.  It  may  be  that  the  end  is  coming — the  last 
great  battle  of  the  North — and  that  society  will  reconstitute 
itself  upon  some  larger  plan  which  lies  even  now  laid  out  in 
the  eye  of  God.  But  whether  it  be  the  end  or  only  one  more 
boiling  over,  to  be  followed  by  another  subsidence,  I  think 
the  change  will  be  mightier  and  more  far-reaching  than  any 
which  has  been  wrought  before.  I  think,  too,  that,  though 
the  struggle  is  world-wide,  it  is  here  in  these  United  States 
that  the  real  battle  will  be  fought  and  the  real  victory  won. 
As  we  threw  off  monarchy  and  stamped  out  slavery,  so,  it 
seems  to  me,  destiny  will  have  it  that  here  shall  be  the 
scene  of  the  final  triumph  over  wretchedness  and  want.  We 
have  built  the  two  sides  of  the  arch,  and  it  needs  only  the 
key-stone.  ...  I  may  be  dreaming,"  he  went  on — "  it  may  be 
but  young  enthusiasm  ;  but  I  think  not.  The  thing  will  come, 
and  left  to  itself  it  will  come  by  brute  force.  This  country 
is  within  a  measurable  distance  of  anarchy  to-day.     In  the 


AN   AFTERNOON    CALL  5 

last  resort  of  violence  the  physical  superiority  is  necessarily 
with  the  many ;  and  if  we  leave  the  lines  to  be  drawn  again 
as  they  have  been  drawn  always  before,  though  all  the  brains 
and  refinement  and  learning  of  the  world  are  on  one  side, 
they  will  be  no  match  for  the  muscle  which  is  on  the  other. 
In  the  older  countries  now  the  revolution  is  on  the  road  to 
working  itself  out  with  the  bomb  and  the  firebrand  and  the 
knife.  Surely  we,  in  this  country  of  freedom,  can  find  a  bet- 
ter way !  We  have  scorned  before  the  precedents  of  the 
ages,  and  we  can  once  more.  It  is  only  lack  of  such  leaders 
as  might  win  the  victory  by  peaceful  means  that  throws  the 
multitude  back  on  its  ultimate  and  one  certain  resource  of 
violence.  The  change  will  come  as  surely  as  justice  is  en- 
throned in  the  mind  of  the  Almighty,  and  if  not  led  other- 
wise, it  will  come  by  blood.  But  it  can  be  led  otherwise,  and 
in  the  new  groupings  of  parties  now  in  progress  in  these 
United  States  it  seems — not  alone  to  me,  but  to  many  others 
— that  there  has  arrived  at  last  the  opportunity  for  which  man- 
kind has  waited  through  the  centuries.  And  in  proportion  to 
the  opportunity  is  the  peril,  if  the  opportunity  be  neglected." 

As  he  spoke,  with  the  September  sunlight  on  his  lifted 
face,  there  had  been  an  earnestness  and  an  exaltation  in  his 
features  which  appealed  immediately  and  irresistibly  to  all 
that  was  feminine  in  his  hearer.  She,  uplifted  with  him, 
stood  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  his,  her  lips  parted  and  face 
flushed,  and  her  fingers  clasped  nervously  before  her.  But 
now  his  manner  changed,  and  something  of  the  former  tone 
of  banter  came  back  to  his  voice. 

"  Of  course,  in  such  a  cause,  we  cannot  pick  our  fellow- 
workers.  It  is  difficult  to  fight  the  cause  of  the  people  with- 
out having  some  considerable  part  of  the  people  on  your  side, 
and  some  of  them  are  not  very  refined  nor  very  intellectual. 
They  would  be  ill  at  ease,  perhaps,  in  this  room — and  that  is 
the  shame  of  it.  In  another  generation  the  people  may  all  be 
at  ease  together.  The  best  people,  as  the  world  understands 
it,  are  seldom  on  the  right  side ;  and  least  of  all  in  this  one 
eternal  controversy.  The  best  people — the  counterparts  of 
your  father  and  Judge  Jessel  and  the  rest — were  not  on  the 
side  of  our  Saviour  and  his  apostles." 


6  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

As  be  had  changed  his  tone  and  dropped  to  his  every-day 
level  again,  the  spell  passed  away  from  her,  and  the  last  sen- 
tence threw  her  sharply  back  into  her  old  attitude  of  antag- 
onism. 

"  That  is  not  fair,"  she  said,  quickly.  "  An  argument  from 
Scripture  can  never  be  fair.  It  does  not  appeal  to  reason  only, 
and  we  cannot  meet  it  as  we  do  an  argument  based  on  other 
authority." 

"  That  is  true,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  and  I  withdraw  it.  Let 
us  say,  instead,  that  the  best  people  were  not  on  the  side  of 
the  revolutionists  in  France." 

"  And  what  analogy  is  there  between  our  attitude  to-day — 
the  attitude  of  papa  or  myself — towards  the  working-classes 
and  the  attitude  of  the  nobility  towards  the  French  peasantry  ? 
I  suppose  you  compare  me  to  the  Countess  of  What's-her- 
name  who  wondered  why  the  starving  poor  of  Paris  were 
clamoring  so  foolishly  for  bread  when  they  could  buy  such 
nice  brioches  for  a  sou.  You  represent  me  to  your  own  mind, 
I  presume,  as  soon  to  be  confronting  a  red-capped  mob  armed 
with  pikes  and  pitchforks,  with  the  house  in  flames  around 
me." 

"  Now,  Miss  Holt,  you  are  more  unfair  than  I.  The  per- 
sonal argument  is  less  permissible  than  the  scriptural,  espe- 
cially from  a  woman,  in  proportion  as  the  extraneous  disa- 
bilities which  it  imposes  are  worse.  But,"  he  added,  "  I  can 
imagine  no  one  who  would  confront  a  mob — or  do  anything 
else — more  superbly." 

She  gave  the  words  a  half-contemptuous  acknowledgment, 
and  was  about  to  speak  again  when  the  butler  entered  and 
announced  "  Mrs.  Tisserton." 

Mrs.  Tisserton  was  exceedingly  blonde  —  a  blonde  of  the 
"  negative  type,"  but  to  such  an  extreme  that  the  mere  nega- 
tion of  color  became  positive.  Small,  regular  features,  fluffy 
flaxen  hair,  and  pale  blue  eyes,  combined  with  a  trick  which 
she  had  of  keeping  her  lips  slightly  parted  as  if  in  perpetual 
interrogation,  gave  her  a  curiously  childish  face.  Without 
being  beautiful,  she  was  a  woman  who  could  not  but  attract 
attention  (especially  of  men)  in  whatever  company  she  found 
herself.    The  extreme  blonde — probably  in  virtue  of  a  certain 


AN    AFTERNOON   CALL  7 

suggestion  of  potential  frailty  which  her  appearance  conveys 
to  the  masculine  mind — is  ever  more  stared  at  in  the  street 
or  in  a  car  or  in  any  place  where  people  are  gathered  to- 
gether than  a  handsomer  brunette.  Mrs.  Tisserton's  appear- 
ance did  her  an  injustice.  The  ordinary  woman  of  the  day, 
with  the  usual  social  prejudices  and  predilections,  if  thrown 
into  casual  contact  with  Mrs.  Tisserton  —  say,  on  an  ocean 
steamer  —  would  have  looked  upon  her  with  suspicion,  and 
have  accepted  her  as  an  acquaintance  only  tentatively  and 
with  much  caution.  Yet  here  in  the  community  where  she 
had  dwelt,  as  girl  and  matron,  for  twenty  years,  no  woman 
was  more  universally  accepted,  had  lived  more  completely  be- 
yond reproach,  or  was  more  sincerely  respected  by  those  who 
knew  her  best.  Mrs.  Tisserton  had  herself  come  to  be  thor- 
oughly aware  of  the  equivocal  attractiveness  of  her  appear- 
ance, and  had  not  infrequently  confided  to  her  husband  her 
determination  some  day  to  dye  her  hair  and  live  the  rest  of 
her  life  a  brunette  and  in  peace. 

"  I  never  meet  a  new  man,"  she  said,  "  who  seems  to  take 
any  sort  of  pleasure  in  my  company  "  (a  thing  which  men, 
new  or  old,  might  very  reasonably  do)  "  without  being  con- 
scious that  every  woman  in  the  room,  except  half  a  dozen 
who  know  me  too  well,  is  regarding  me  as  a  dangerous,  de- 
signing, and,  probably,  disreputable  person.  Nature  ought 
either  to  have  made  me  as  bad  as  I  look  or  else  have  made  me 
look  as  good  as  I  am." 

On  this  occasion  as  she  entered  the  room  and  saw  the  only 
two  occupants  (of  whom  she  was  probably  already  aware 
that  at  least  one  had  something  more  than  an  inclination 
for  the  other's  company)  standing  and  talking  with  greater 
warmth  than  usually  characterizes  the  casual  chat  at  an  after- 
noon call,  she  stopped  for  a  moment,  as  if  apologetically,  just 
inside  the  door.  Miss  Holt,  however,  advanced  with  a  cer- 
tain quick  and  almost  impulsive  cordiality  which  was  charac- 
teristic of  her. 

"  How  do  you  do,  my  dear  ?  I  am  extremely  glad  to  see 
you,"  she  said.  "  We  were  talking  politics,  and  Mr.  Marsh 
was  comparing  himself  to  the  apostles,  and  saying  that  I 
ought  to  be  treated  like  one  of  the  French  duchesses  and 


8  MEN   BORN   EQUAL 

things  who  were  impaled  by  the  mob  and  carried  round  in 
pieces." 

"  How  excessively  disagreeable  of  him,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Tisserton,  as,  after  shaking  hands  with  the  accused,  she  sank 
into  a  comfortable  chair.  "  I  am  not  as  sorry  that  I  inter- 
rupted you  as  I  thought  I  was.  Why  is  Mr.  Marsh  like  an 
apostle  ?"  she  asked.  She  had  a  curiously  deliberate  and  even 
way  of  speaking,  with  an  equal  accent  on  every  syllable, 
which  gave  strangers  the  impression  that  she  was  affected. 
"  It  sounds  like  a  riddle,  doesn't  it  ?  And  I  give  it  up.  It 
cannot  be  anything  in  his  personal  appearance." 

"  No  •  it  is  his  zeal,"  said  Miss  Holt.  "  I  may  be  misrepre- 
senting him,  but  I  understood  him  to  say  that  it  was  his  zeal 
for  the  voiceless  millions.  He  is  to  be  a  sort  of  mouth-piece 
for  the  misery  of  the  centuries,  and  he  thinks  that  you  and  I 
and  all  of  us  frivolous  social  beings  are  heartless.  "Which  way 
do  you  propose  to  level,  Mr.  Marsh — up  or  down  ?" 

"  Neither,"  said  Horace.  "  There  is  no  talk  of  levelling. 
Rich  and  poor  there  must  always  be ;  but  there  need  not  be 
hatred  between  them." 

"And  has  he  been  trying  to  convert  you?"  asked  Mrs. 
Tisserton.  "  To  make  you  a  sort  of  Severine  or  Louise 
Michel  ?  I  saw  that  Louise  Michel,  in  a  French  paper  the 
other  day,  said  that  her  profession  was  that  of  a  promulgator 
of  revolutions.  Fancy  making  a  profession  of  promulgating 
revolutions,  especially  a  woman  !" 

"It  would  be  rather  hopeless,"  said  Marsh,  "to  endeavor 
to  make  Miss  Holt  resemble  Louise  Michel.  I  went  to  hear 
her  in  London  once.  She  is  such  a  deplorably  unattractive 
person  and  looks  so  harmless !  The  man  who  was  with  me 
said  that  she  reminded  him  of  a  '  mother-in-law  who  had 
seen  better  days.'  " 

"  I  think  that  is  wicked  !"  said  Mrs.  Tisserton.  "  Why  do 
people  make  fun  of  mother-in-laws  ?  They  are  other  people's 
mothers,  and  it  is  awfully  bad  mannered.  Look  at  Jack's 
mother — was  there  ever  a  dearer  old  lady?"  (Jack,  it  is  need- 
less to  say,  was  Mr.  Tisserton.)  "  But  I  wish  I  could  remem- 
ber in  time  when  I  am  speaking  whether  they  ought  to  be 
called  mother-in-laws  or  mothers-in-law." 


AN    AFTERNOON    CALL  9 

"  I  know,"  said  Marsh ;  "  it  is  like  majors-general  and  aides- 
de-camp." 

"  Or  those  abominable  French  participles,"  suggested  Miss 
Holt,  "  which  always  '  agree  '  with  the  other  thing,  and  become 
feminine  and  plural  when  you  do  not  expect  them  to." 
,  "  I  am  so  glad  that  Ada  Cambridge  had  the  courage  to  call 
her  book  The  Three  Miss  Kings,"  said  Mrs.  Tisserton  ;  uThe 
Three  Misses  King  would  have  been  insufferable." 

At  this  point  the  party  became  aware  that  a  new  caller 
had  arrived  at  the  front  door,  and  Marsh  rose  to  take  his 
leave. 

"  However,"  he  said,  "  I  did  not  come  to  talk  politics  or 
grammar,  but "  (addressing  Miss  Holt)  "  only  to  say  that  I  was 
extremely  sorry  that  I  should  not  meet  you  at  the  theatre  on 
Wednesday.  You  know  that  I  am  sorry ;  but  it  is  my  first 
important  speech  out  of  my  own  bailiwick,  and  I  must  be  on 
hand." 

"  I  think  it  is  mean,"  said  Miss  Holt ;  "  the  Braces  are  giv- 
ing a  theatre-party,  and  Mr.  Marsh  was  to  dine  with  us  here 
first.  And  now  the  apostle  has  to  address  the  multitude  on 
that  same  evening." 

"  Jack  heard  you  speak  the  other  night  somewhere  in  '  your 
own  bailiwick,'  I  suppose,  and  he  was  very  complimentary — 
for  Jack, that  is,"  said  Mrs.  Tisserton,  "for  Jack  is  not  effu- 
sive. But  you  really  ought  to  be  flattered,  because  I  know 
he  did  not  agree  with  you,  and  Jack  is  not  a  bit  like  an  apos- 
tle, you  know." 

Marsh  had  doubts  as  to  the  degree  of  the  compliment  con- 
veyed by  "Jack's"  admiration.  Tisserton  was  not  an  intel- 
lectual critic  ;  but  a  speaker  who  hit  his  level  would  probably 
strike  a  fair  proportion  of  a  mixed  audience.  Marsh  was 
spared  the  necessity  of  expressing  his  sense  of  appreciation 
of  Mrs.  Tisserton's  husband's  encomiums,  however,  by  the 
entrance  of  a  new-comer,  whom  the  butler  announced  as 
"  Mrs.  Flail,"  and  who  was  already  responding  to  Miss  Holt's 
greeting  in  a  loud  and  self-assertive  voice. 

Mrs.  Flail  wras  obviously  a  personage  of  local  importance. 
Her  appearance  acknowledged  it ;  her  voice  and  manner  pro- 
claimed it.     The  widow  of  a  banker  who  had  died  some  ten 


10  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

years  before,  leaving  her  in  more  than  comfortable  circum- 
stances, but  childless,  she  had  since  then  devoted  much  of  her 
means  and  nearly  all  of  her  time  and  energy  (which  latter 
was  extraordinary)  to  the  management  and  support  of  those 
multitudinous  feminine  organizations  which  seem  necessary 
to  the  social  life  of  any  self-respecting  community,  especially 
if  that  community  be  located  in  the  Western  States  of  Ameri- 
ca, in  these  last  days  of  the  nineteenth  century.  It  was  she 
who  had  invented  Egyptian  Lunches — the  mysterious  func- 
tions at  which  a  select  circle  of  erudite  ladies  assembled 
every  alternate  Tuesday  throughout  a  winter,  and  one  of  the 
party  having  first  read  an  essay,  by  way  of  grace,  on  some  re- 
cent phase  of  Egyptian  discovery,  the  coterie  sat  down  to 
lunch  and  discussed  chicken-salad  and  cuneiform  inscriptions 
together,  and  digested  views  on  cartouches  while  nibbling 
salted  almonds.     They  were  an  immense  success. 

It  was  always,  as  a  matter  of  course,  in  Mrs.  Flail's  draw- 
ing-rooms that  the  lion  of  the  day,  whether  an  African  ex- 
plorer, a  Russian  princess,  or  a  new  pianist,  was  first  exhib- 
ited to  the  elite  of  the  city.  The  lion's  managers  counted 
upon  this  private  exhibition,  in  making  their  dates  for  the 
tour,  as  an  eminently  advantageous  business  detail.  They 
would  no  more  have  permitted  the  lion  to  decline  Mrs. 
Flail's  invitation  than  they  would  have  neglected  to  advertise 
in  the  local  papers.  All  of  which  (though  Mrs.  Flail  was 
doubtless  ignorant  of  some  of  it)  was  evidence  of  that  lady's 
importance.  The  number  of  "  classes  "  which  she  had  or- 
ganized in  the  course  of  ten  years  was  almost  incalculable — 
classes  in  every  European  language  and  almost  all  branches 
of  history,  in  china-painting  and  water-colors,  in  photogra- 
phy and  palmistry,  in  aesthetics  according  to  Delsarte,  and 
mnemonics  according  to  Loisette,  in  Buddhism  and  cookery. 
But  though  she  was  most  conspicuous  in  organizations  of  an 
intellectual  sort,  her  labors  in  the  cause  of  charity  were 
scarcely  less  exacting.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  she  pre- 
vented her  sewing-circle  at  times  from  colliding  with  the  date 
for  a  class  on  Moorish  architecture,  and  it  sometimes  taxed 
both  her  ingenuity  and  the  speed  of  her  horses  to  wedge  in 
the  meeting  of  the  managers  of  the  creche  between  a  class  on 


AN    AFTERNOON    CALL  11 

Confucianism  and  a  French  conversazione  on  the  women  of 
the  Second  Empire. 

She  rustled  into  the  room  now  with  a  nimbleness  which 
was  hardly  to  have  been  looked  for  in  a  person  of  her  ample 
proportions.  She  talked  rapidly  and  with  an  enthusiasm 
singularly  unlike  the  even  flow  of  Mrs.  Tisserton's  placid 
voice.  There  could  hardly,  indeed,  have  been  a  stronger 
contrast  than  was  presented  by  these  two  women  —  one 
blonde  and  rather  frail,  almost  infantile  of  face,  very  gentle 
of  manner,  dressed  in  a  perfectly  fitting  tailor-made  costume 
of  dark  green,  and  charmingly  gloved  and  booted — the  other 
florid  and  largely  built,  black -browed,  and  with  massive, 
square-cut  features,  full  of  energy  and  self-assertion,  shod  in 
square-toed  walking -shoes,  wearing  a  black  glove  on  one 
hand  only  and  a  carelessly  put  on  and  apparently  home-made 
black  cashmere  gown,  which  hung  in  superfluous  folds  about 
even  her  ample  form.  When  Mrs.  Flail  sat  down  it  was  cor- 
nerwise,  and  on  the  very  edge  of  the  large  chair  on  which 
Marsh  had  formerly  been  leaning.  Sitting,  with  this  good 
lady,  was  not  a  means  of  rest,  but  rather  the  taking  up  of  a 
strategical  position — the  en  garde  of  a  fencer  bracing  himself 
for  encounter  with  an  antagonist. 

"  What !"  she  said,  somewhat  out  of  breath,  as  she  saw 
that  Marsh  was  taking  his  leave,  "am  I  driving  you  away?  I 
have  been  trying  to  find  time  for  ever  so  long  to  get  to  your 
office  to  call  on  both  you  and  General  Harter  to  wheedle  you 
into  subscribing  to  our  new  kindergarten.  What  is  a  good 
time  to  find  you  ?" 

*•  Well,"  replied  the  other,  smiling,  "  we  are  nearly  always 
to  be  found  there,  one  or  other  of  us,  and  shall  always  be  de- 
lighted to  see  you,  whether  we  feel  able  to  subscribe  or  not. 
The  children  at  the  kindergarten  do  not  vote,  do  they  ?  If 
you  could  manage  it  so  that  a  subscription  might  justifiably 
be  regarded  as  a  campaign  expense,  you  will  probably,  in 
these  piping  times,  find  the  General  easier  prey.  The  exigen- 
cies of  politics  leave  him  little  margin,  I  fear,  for  charitable 
purposes." 

"  The  children's  parents  vote,"  said  Mrs.  Flail.  "  But  I  de- 
cline to  degrade  the  kindergarten  to  the  level  of  politics — at 


12  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

least,  until  it  becomes  necessary  to  interest  the  school-board 
in  taking  it  into  the  public-school  system.  However,  you  will 
see  me — be  sure  of  that." 

Miss  Holt  walked  as  far  as  the  door  of  the  room  with 
Marsh,  and  stood  for  a  minute  holding  the  portiere  back 
with  one  hand  as  she  gave  him  the  other.  He  held  it  while 
they  exchanged  the  last  sentences. 

"  We  see  you  at  dinner  on  Monday,  remember,"  she  said, 
"  if  we  are  to  be  disappointed  later." 

"  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  it." 

She  was  looking  at  him  very  frankly,  and,  it  seemed  to 
him,  something  more  than  kindly,  out  of  her  large  brown 
eyes.  But  was  it  anything  more  than  kindness  ?  Was  there 
anything  else  there  than  the  universal  good-fellowship  which 
she  felt  for  everybody  whom  she  liked  ?  How  often  had 
he  asked  himself  this  same  question  on  parting  from  her ! 


II 

FRIENDS    AND    ACQUAINTANCES 

As  Horace  Marsh  left  what  the  local  papers  were  pleased 
to  refer  to  as  "the  Holt  mansion,"  he  stood  for  a  while  on 
the  broad  steps,  buttoning  his  gloves,  and  trying  to  read  in 
retrospect  the  riddle  of  the  eyes  which  had  been  looking  so 
straightly  into  his. 

Of  his  own  love  for  her,  he  had  no  doubt,  and  had  had  none 
for  some  months  past.  Thoughts  of  her  were  always  with  him 
in  his  sub-consciousness  as  a  background  to  whatever  he  might 
be  doing  or  saying ;  as  Goethe  wrote  to  Charlotte  Yon  Stein, 
"  Among  people  I  name  thy  name  to  myself  silently."  His 
actions  and  ambitions  he  immediately  and  almost  involun- 
tarily referred  to  the  standard  of  her  approval,  constituting 
her  the  innocent  censor  of  all  his  thoughts  and  deeds,  and 
doing  nothing  without  asking  first  in  his  heart,  "  What  will 
she  think  of  it  ?" 

In  spite  of  this,  he  was  allowing  himself  to  follow  a  politi- 
cal course  which  was  essentially  distasteful  to  her.  Con- 
scious of  the  paradox,  he  was  yet  satisfied  with  the  motives 
which  impelled  him  to  go  as  he  did. 

In  the  first  place,  as  he  had  told  her,  there  were  "  a  good  many 
things  which  she  did  not  understand  "  in  politics ;  and  in  the 
second  place,  after  she  should  come  to  understand  them,  he 
believed  that  she  would  say  that  he  had  done  well.  Thanks 
to  a  certain  clean  sense  of  self-respect  which  was  in  him 
and  a  deep-rooted  desire  to  live  rightly,  the  result  partly  of 
inheritance  and  early  training,  and  partly  of  the  conviction  to 
which  his  own  observation  had  led  him,  that  honesty  of  pur- 
pose and  strength  of  principle  form  the  only  sure  founda- 
tions of  anv  manner  of  real  success  in   this  life,  he  had  be- 


14  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

lieved  it  better  to  hold  to  the  course  which  conscience  pointed 
out  to  him,  confident  in  his  own  ability  to  make  something 
of  his  career,  and  believing  that,  as  she  saw  him  succeeding, 
he  would  in  the  long-run  be  more  sure  of  her  esteem  than  if 
he  were  now  at  the  outset  to  give  up  his  principles  for  her 
sake,  and  espouse  at  her  bidding  a  cause  which  he  believed 
in  his  heart  to  be  bad. 

Women,  he  knew,  loved  strength  in  men.  The  majority 
of  them  love,  first,  physical  strength,  and  for  the  sake  of  it 
will  forgive  almost  any  coarseness  or  brutality.  They  will 
even  love  brutality,  mistaking  it  for  strength.  But  women 
like  Miss  Holt,  Horace  said,  are  ultimately  to  be  bound  and 
held  only  by  force  of  character  and  principle.  No  good 
woman  ever  yet  failed  to  love  a  man  more  when  she  found 
that  even  she  herself  could  not  turn  him  from  the  course 
which  he  knew  to  be  right.  To  the  credit  both  of  himself 
and  of  his  estimate  of  Miss  Holt,  be  it  said  that  Marsh  had 
never  once  seriously  considered  yielding  to  her  in  this.  He 
thought  that  he  would  give  almost  anything  in  the  world  to 
make  things  otherwise — either  that  she  might  see  things  in 
the  same  proportions  as  he  saw  them,  or  that  the  conditions 
of  society  might  be  so  changed  that  there  would  be  no  room 
for  this  gulf  between  them.  But  he  had  not  entertained  the 
idea  of  abandoning  his  course. 

As  he  walked,  still  pondering,  down  the  steps  and  along 
the  white-flagged  pathway  to  the  sidewalk,  he  was  emphati- 
cally a  good-looking  fellow.  Those  who  came  to  know  his 
face  well  said  that  he  was  handsome,  but  "  good-looking  "  was 
a  title  which  no  one  would  deny  him.  His  w^as  an  easily  rec- 
ognizable type,  and  it  is  one  of  the  two  best  types  of  our 
young  American  manhood.  About  thirty  years  of  age,  with 
good  blood  in  him,  cleanly  brought  up  and  college-bred,  he 
was  now  confronting  life  soberly  with  a  reasonably  correct 
estimate  of  its  requirements  and  responsibilities.  Born  in 
Massachusetts,  the  son  of  a  clergyman  and  a  scholar,  he  had 
gone  through  Harvard  creditably,  and,  after  a  post-graduate 
legal  course,  spent  two  years  in  Europe.  On  his  return  to 
America  he  had  migrated  to  this  Western  city  to  enter  the 
office  of  an  old  friend  of  his  father,  a  lawyer  favorably  known 


FKIENDS    AND    ACQUAINTANCES  15 

beyond  the  limits  of  the  local  bar,  but  who  had  died  a  year 
later.  Thrown  on  his  own  resources,  the  young  attorney  had 
for  a  while  possessed  a  modest  office  and  a  still  more  modest 
practice  of  his  own,  until,  taking  an  interest  in  local  politics 
and  so  coming  into  contact  with  "  General"  (otherwise  known 
,  as  "  Judge"  and  also  as  "  Governor  ")  Harter,  he  had  been  in- 
vited by  that  distinguished  and  versatile  gentleman  to  fill  the 
place  of  a  partner  who  had  recently  moved  out  of  the  State. 
The  firm  of  Harter  &  Marsh  had  been  in  existence  now  for 
some  two  years. 

It  was  a  perfect  afternoon ;  one  of  those  exhilarating  days 
of  Indian  summer,  of  which  nature  usually  vouchsafes  some 
six  weeks  or  two  months  throughout  the  Western  States  in 
the  autumn.  Then,  under  the  pale-blue  sky,  there  is  a  qual- 
ity in  the  thin  sunlit  air  perhaps  more  delightful  than  any- 
thing to  be  met  with  in  any  part  of  Europe,  and  which  goes 
some  way  to  make  amends  for  the  malevolence  and  treachery 
of  the  climate  for  most  of  the  remaining  months.  It  would 
have  been  difficult  not  to  feel  "glad  of  the  joy  of  livino* "  on 
such  a  day ;  and,  on  the  whole,  Marsh  was  contented  with 
himself  and  with  the  world. 

The  street  along  which  he  was  walking  citywards  was 
what  the  real-estate  advertisements  termed  "the  most  desir- . 
able  residence  portion  of  the  city."  On  this  bright  day  the 
succession  of  obviously  well-to-do  houses,  each  standing  back 
from  the  roadway  with  a  well-kept  lawn  in  front,  looked  at- 
tractive enough.  The  buildings  themselves  exhibited  all  the 
amazing  variety  of  which  Western  architecture  has  shown  it- 
self capable.  A  heavy,  jail-like  establishment  of  rough-hewn 
red  stone,  with  narrow  windows,  stood  next  to  a  square-set, 
comfortable  colonial  house  of  yellow  brick  with  white  trim- 
mings and  broad  windows  set  in  the  smooth  walls,  next  to 
which  flaunted  itself  a  large  wooden  villa,  with  innumerable 
piazzas,  above  which  rose  a  riot  of  shingled  gables  and  ob- 
trusively ornamental  chimneys,  the  whole  culminating  in  an 
abomination  of  a  cupola  (they  called  it  "  cupelo  "  here)  capped 
with  a  pretentious  weather-vane.  The  entire  structure,  a 
mere  heaping  together  and  conglomeration  of  "  features " 
with  not  so  much  as  a  hand's-breadth  of  unadorned  space  on 


16  MEN    BORN   EQUAL 

which  to  rest  the  eye,  was  painted  reddish-brown,  save  where 
the  pillars  of  the  piazzas  were  picked  out  in  yellow  and  white. 
As  Marsh  arrived  at  this  particular  house,  a  carriage  with 
two  showy  sorrels  came  down  the  driveway,  driven  by  a 
coachman  in  gaudy  livery.  Our  friend,  standing  to  let  the 
carriage  pass  in  front  of  him  across  the  sidewalk,  was  re- 
warded by  being  made  the  recipient  of  an  effusive  bow  and 
smile  from  the  pretty  but  unnecessarily  youthful  matron  who 
was  within — Mrs.  Carrington.  This  was  the  Carrington  resi- 
dence, and  one  of  the  Misses  Carrington,  as  tall  as  her  mother 
and  looking  nearly  as  old,  still  stood  under  the  porte  cochere 
watching  the  carriage  drive  away.  Marsh  smiled  in  ungrate- 
ful cynicism  as  the  showy  turnout  clattered  into  the  roadway. 
At  the  next  corner  he  was  arrested  by  hearing  his  name 
called,  and,  turning,  saw  approaching  along  the  cross-street  a 
man,  at  sight  of  whom  his  face  brightened. 

"  Hallo,  Charlie  !"  he  called,  as  the  other  came  within 
speaking  distance  ;  "  where  have  you  been  hiding  yourself  ?" 
"  Well,"  said  Charlie,  shaking  hands  cordially,  "  I've  been 
pretty  busy  up  at  the  works.  They're  increasing  their  elec- 
trical plant— putting  in  a  lot  of  new  machinery  and  things — 
and  have  had  a  hard  time  about  it,  too.  Some  of  it  has  not 
.been  the  result  of  accident,  either." 
"  How  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Oh,  little  things  have  been  going  wrong  in  away  in  which 
things  don't  usually  go  wrong  of  themselves.  You  know,  of 
course,  that  there  has  been  talk  of  trouble  for  some  time,  and 
the  men  are  feeling  pretty  wicked.  There'll  be  a  strike  be- 
fore long,  all  right." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  the  men  have  been  tampering  with  the 
machinery  ?" 

"  I  don't  think  the  climate  does  it,"  said  Charlie. 
It  was  hazarded  that  Marsh  belonged  to  "one  of  the  two 
best  types  of  our  young  American  manhood."  If  so,  then 
Charlie  Harrington  was  a  specimen  of  the  other.  He  also 
looked  what  he  was — a  mechanic  who  was  also  a  gentleman. 
He  and  Marsh  came  from  the  same  town  in  Massachusetts,  and 
had  been  good  friends  as  boys  together  till  each  had  started 
out  on  the  path  in  life  for  which  he  considered  himself  best 


FRIENDS    AND    ACQUAINTANCES  17 

equipped.  Harrington  had  taken  to  mechanics  because  he 
loved  them — because  Nature  had  seen  fit  to  implant  in  him,  as 
she  sometimes  does,  an  instinctive  understanding  of  mechan- 
ical laws,  just  as  she  makes  other  men — men  of  ability,  after 
their  kind — who  can  be  in  contact  with  machinery  for  years 
without  even  coming  to  understand  what  it  is  that  makes  an 
engine  "  go."  After  distinguishing  himself  not  a  little  in  his 
course  at  the  Institute  of  Technology,  he  had  spent  two  and  a 
half  years  in  the  Pennsylvania  Railroad  shops  at  Altoona. 
During  those  years  his  spare  time  was  devoted  to  the  study 
of  electricity,  and  when  he  left  the  railroad  company's  employ 
it  was  to  enter  the  service  of  a  large  corporation  which  built 
and  handled  electrical  plants  and  supplies.  This  connection 
it  was  which  brought  him  in  contact  once  more  with  Marsh, 
when  he  was  sent  out  by  his  company,  only  a  few  months 
after  his  old  friend's  removal  to  the  West,  to  superintend  the 
installing  of  a  lighting  plant  in  the  large  iron  and  steel  works 
which  were  the  chief  industrial  establishment  of  the  city. 
When  the  task  was  completed,  Mr.  Holt  (his  daughter  Jessie 
we  have  already  met),  who  was  the  president  of  the  iron  and 
steel  company,  and  had  seen  something  of  Harrington  during 
the  work  of  installation,  invited  him  to  stay  and  take  per- 
manent charge  of  the  electrical  plant  at  the  works,  in  addition 
to  acting  as  consulting  engineer  to  the  street  railway  com- 
pany of  which  Mr.  Holt  was  also  president  and  general  man- 
ager. Harrington  had  accepted  the  position,  and  had  re- 
mained in  it  ever  since. 

The  two  friends  saw  less  of  each  other  than  either  wished, 
but  when  they  met  the  old  footing  of  boyish  familiarity  was 
resumed.  Walking  together  now,  they  chatted  interestedly 
of  each  other's  affairs.  Harrington  told  of  his  recent  experi- 
ments and  his  present  ambitions,  and  of  the  labor  troubles 
which  were  threatening  at  the  steel  works.  He  told  also  of  the 
progress  of  his  love  affair.  He  had,  as  Marsh  knew,  been  en- 
gaged to  be  married  for  some  time,  and  now  formally  be- 
spoke Marsh's  services  as  best  man  at  the  wedding,  which 
was  to  occur  early  in  the  following  January. 

Drifting  back  to  the  labor  question,  Marsh  had  asked  his 
friend  how  the  strike,  if  it  came,  would  affect  him. 


18  MEN    BORN   EQUAL 

''That's  the  worst  of  it,"  Harrington  replied.  "I  don't 
think  any  of  the  officers  of  the  company  suspect  it,  and  I 
may  be  wrong  myself,  but  I  have  an  idea  that  personal  dis- 
like for  me  has  a  good  deal  to  do  with  these  present  troubles. 
If  there  happened  to  be  a  man  in  my  place  who  was  what 
is  called  a  'friend  of  labor,'  I  think  they  would  leave  the 
electrical  apparatus  alone." 

"  What  have  they  against  you  ?"  asked  Marsh,  in  some  sur- 
prise. 

"  I  never  had  much  of  a  labor  record,"  said  Harrington. 
"  Of  course,  in  my  present  position,  I  could  not  be  expected  to 
belong  to  an  organization  ;  but  I  didn't  when  I  was  with 
the  railroad.  Not  only  that,  but  I  talked  on  the  subject  pretty 
freely  at  times.  If  I  had  been  a  little  older,  probably  I  would 
not  have  done  it.  Those  things  follow  a  man ;  and  though  I 
have  said  nothing  much  here,  the  men  know  how  I  feel.  And 
then  there's  another  reason." 

Marsh  waited  for  him  to  explain  himself,  which  he  pres- 
ently did. 

"  This  man  AVollmer,"  he  said,  "  who  pretty  well  runs  la- 
bor matters  to  suit  himself  in  these  parts,  boards  with  Mrs. 
Masson.  He  started  to  make  love  to  Jennie,  and  not  unnatu- 
rally blames  me  because  she  will  have  nothing  to  say  to  him. 
If  he  saw  his  chance,  I  guess  he  'Id  do  anything  he  could  to 
hurt  me.  That's  what  makes  me  have  to  be  pretty  careful 
up  at  the  works.  It  wouldn't  be  difficult,  for  a  man  who 
knew  how,  to  fix  those  wires  so  that  some  day  when  I  was 
going  about  my  business  I'd  be  dead  before  I  knew  it.  .  .  . 
The  old  lady,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  "  would  rather  Jennie 
took  him  than  me.     She  don't  like  me  a  little  bit." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  while,  when  Harrington 
suddenly  called  his  friend's  attention  to  a  man  who  was  ad- 
vancing to  meet  them. 

"  Do  you  know  him  at  all  ?"  asked  Harrington. 

"  Marshal  Blakely  ?     Oh  yes,"  replied  his  friend. 

"  Know  him  well  ?"  Harrington  asked  again.  Before  an- 
swering, Marsh  waited  until  the  subject  of  their  conversation 
had  passed  them,  the  two  men  saluting  each  other  with  their 
canes  as  they  met. 


FRIENDS    AND    ACQUAINTANCES  19 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  not  exactly  well.  I  see  him  around  the 
club  a  good  deal  and — elsewhere." 

By  "  elsewhere "  he  meant  chiefly  in  Miss  Holt's  com- 
pany, but  he  did  not  care  to  be  specific. 

"  Handsome  chap,  isn't  he  ?"  asked  Harrington  again. 

"  Infernally  handsome  !"  Marsh  responded,  with  consider- 
able emphasis,  and  added,  under  his  breath : 

"  '  The  sort  of  beauty  that's  called  human 
In  hell.'  "... 

"  What  the  novelists  call  i  distinguished  looking,'  "  volun- 
teered the  electrician.  "  But  what  kind  of  a  fellow  is  he  ?" 
he  pursued.  "  Is  he  a  man  that  it  is  likely  to  do  a  girl  any 
good  to  know  ?" 

Marsh  was  so  startled  by  the  question  that  he  asked, 
sharply : 

"  Why  ?    What  makes  you  ask  that  ?" 

"  He's  been  hanging  around  Jennie's  sister,  Annie,  a  good 
deal"  (Jennie  Masson  was  his  fiancee),  "and  in  a  sort  of  un- 
derhanded way  that  I  don't  like.  The  old  lady  does  not 
know  it,  and  I  guess  he  thinks  that  nobody  knows  it;  but 
Jennie  told  me,  and  I  saw  them  together  myself  a  few  even- 
ings ago.  I  was  just  leaving  the  house,  about  ten  o'clock, 
and  passed  them  as  they  were  saying  good-night  rather  con- 
fidentially at  the  corner." 

The  information  interested  Marsh  considerably. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  it  is  likely  to  do  her  any  good,"  he 
said ;  "  not  that  I  know  anything  definite  against  the  man. 
But — well,  perhaps  it  is  only  his  confounded  good  looks. 
It  is  impossible  not  to  feel  suspicious  of  a  fellow  with  a  face 
like  that.  He  is  what  the  careful  European  mother  would 
call  a  typical  *  detrimental.'     Besides — " 

But  he  broke  off,  for  what  he  wanted  to  say  was  that  the 
young  lady's  social  position  was  not  exactly  that  which  a 
man  of  Blakely's  stamp  would  probably  require  in  the  woman 
to  whom  he  paid  serious  attention.  But  it  was  difficult  to 
say  this  of  the  sister  of  his  friend's  future  wife. 

At  the  next  corner  the  two  men  separated,  Harrington  be- 
ing on  his  way  to  call  on  Miss  Masson,  and  Marsh  strolled  on 


20  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

towards  his  office.  There  was  no  need  of  haste,  for  it  was 
Saturday  afternoon,  and  returning  to  his  office  at  all  was 
little  more  than  a  formality,  "  to  see  if  anything  had  come 
in."  As  he  walked  he  thought  of  Marshal  Blakely  and  of 
what  he  had  just  heard  about  him. 

Marsh  hated  Blakely  cordially.  Probably  he  would  have 
done  so  under  any  circumstances,  for  the  two  had  little  in 
common ;  but  what  might  have  been  only  a  negative  antipa- 
thy was  aggravated  into  intense  dislike  by  the  fact  of  the 
undeniable  friendliness  which  seemed  to  have  developed  be- 
tween Blakely  and  Miss  Holt.  It  was  easy  for  Marsh  to  tell 
himself  that  she  was  not  the  girl  to  be  seriously  attracted 
to  a  man  like  Blakely.  The  fact  remained  that  she  did  ap- 
pear to  like  him,  and,  as  Marsh  had  lately  said,  he  was  indu- 
bitably "  infernally  handsome."  Blakely  was  the  only  man 
in  whose  presence  it  had  seemed  to  him  that  Miss  Holt 
showed  the  least  embarrassment  of  manner.  At  first  Marsh 
had  striven  to  believe  that  it  was  only  his  own  jealous  imagi- 
nation ;  but  the  day  came  when  he  knew  that  it  was  not. 

It  was  in  a  ball-room,  and  he  was  standing  talking  to  Miss 
Holt  when  Blakely  entered  the  room  (he  had  a  habit  of  ar- 
riving at  dances  an  hour  or  two  later  than  anybody  else), 
and  as  he  did  so  Marsh  saw  her  manner  change.  They  were 
separated  by  nearly  half  the  length  of  a  good-sized  ball-room 
from  the  door  at  which  Blakely  entered,  but  Marsh  caught 
the  one  quick  glance  with  which  she  recognized  him  almost 
before  he  was  inside  the  door.  It  was  as  if  she  must  have 
been  watching  the  doorway  for  his  arrival.  Marsh  saw  also 
that  Blakely's  eyes  rested  on  her  as  he  looked  round  the 
room.  Instantly  a  restraint  and  self-consciousness  had  come 
into  Miss  Holt's  manner.  She  was  nervous  and  distraite, 
playing  alternately  with  her  programme  and  her  fan,  and  only 
by  an  evident  effort  succeeding  in  keeping  up  a  lifeless  and 
desultory  conversation.  Meanwhile  Blakely  was  moving  up 
the  other  side  of  the  room,  stopping  for  a  minute  to  talk 
to  one  woman,  to  bargain  with  another  laughingly  for  a 
dance,  then  leaning  over  to  speak  to  a  chaperon  seated  on  a 
chair  against  the  ball-room  wall,  or  moving  aside  to  let  a 
promenading  couple  pass;  and  he  did  it  all  with  an  air  for 


FRIENDS    AND    ACQUAINTANCES  21 

which  Marsh  cursed  him  in  his  heart.  During  this  time 
Miss  Holt's  back  had  been  turned  to  the  new  arrival,  and 
certainly  her  eyes  had  not  rested  upon  him  since  that  first 
minute  when  he  was  at  the  doorway.  None  the  less,  Marsh 
could  see  that  she  was  acutely  conscious  of  the  other's  prog- 
ress up  the  room,  in  the  course  of  which  he  had  now  passed 
the  point  opposite  to  where  the  two  were  standing.  Miss 
Holt,  as  if  by  accident,  shifted  her  position,  so  that  by  turn- 
ing her  head  very  slightly  to  the  right  she  could  look  directly 
at  Blakely  where  he  now  was.  At  the  instant  that  she  did 
so,  as  if  there  had  been  some  sympathetic  communication 
between  them,  Blakely  also  turned  towards  her,  and  their  eyes 
met.  This  time  both  bowed  across  the  room.  Blakely  did 
not,  as  Marsh  had  expected,  come  over  to  speak  to  her,  but 
went  deliberately  on  his  way,  while  Miss  Holt  turned  quickly 
back  to  her  companion,  with  a  higher  color  in  her  cheeks  and 
a  confusion  in  her  manner  as  she  said,  all  in  one  sentence  : 

"  I  beg  your  pardon —  I'm  afraid  I  was  not  attending  to 
what  you  said —  How  warm  this  room  is  ! —  Let  us  go  and 
sit  on  the  stairs —     Shall  we  ?" 

Marsh  could  not  reply  for  the  wrath  and  the  turmoil  which 
was  in  him.  Bowing  his  acquiescence  and  offering  her  his 
arm,  he  walked  in  rigid  silence  with  her  from  the  room,  feel- 
ing the  blood  buzzing  in  his  temples.  They  found  a  place  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  sat  down ;  but  though  the  silence 
was  torture  to  Marsh,  he  found  it  impossible  to  speak.  In  a 
few  minutes  Blakely  came  strolling  in  seeming  aimlessness 
out  of  the  ball-room.  He  glanced  carelessly  over  the  various 
groups  scattered  through  the  hall,  and  made  his  way  slowly 
to  where  Miss  Holt  was  seated  on  the  stairs.  Her  self-pos- 
session had  returned  to  her  now,  and  it  was  with  perfect  free- 
dom that  she  shook  hands  and  commented  laughingly  on  the 
lateness  of  his  arrival. 

"And  is  there  any  use  in  my  asking  for  a  dance  at  this 
period  of  the  evening  ?"  he  had  asked. 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  she  replied,  although  Marsh  was  aware 
that  she  had  refused  half  a  dozen  applicants  in  the  last  fifteen 
minutes. 

"  Yes,"  she  added,  after  pondering  over  her  programme  for 


22  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

a  while,  "you  can  have  that  one — No.  16.  There  is  some- 
body's name  there,  but  he  has  another  dance  and  I  will  ex- 
cuse myself." 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you,  and  more  than  I  deserve,"  said 
Blakely,  gratefully,  a  sentiment  with  which  Marsh  most  thor- 
oughly agreed.  A  moment  later  the  music  began  again,  and 
Miss  Holt's  partner  for  the  next  dance  appeared,  and  led  her 
away  with  an  air  of  smirking  and  apologetic  triumph. 

Marsh  thought  that  he  had  never  felt  quite  so  miserable  in 
all  his  life  as  he  did  that  night  and  for  days  after.  Miss  Holt, 
he  knew,  had  only  met  Blakely  once  or  twice  before,  and 
Marsh  tried  to  assure  himself  by  explaining  to  his  own  heart 
twenty  times  a  day  that  it  was  nothing  more  than  the  natural 
curiosity  of  a  woman  to  see  something  more  of  a  handsome 
stranger  whom  she  had  necessarily  heard  a  good  deal  talked 
about.  Since  that  evening  (which  was  two  months  ago)  he 
had  seen  no  recurrence  of  embarrassment  in  Miss  Holt's  man- 
ner in  Blakely's  presence,  and  had  gradually  acquired  some- 
thing like  confidence  in  his  theory  of  woman's  natural  curi- 
osity. He  had  a  younger  sister,  married  now,  acquaintance 
with  whom  had  taught  him  how  large  a  space  the  youth  of 
the  other  sex  occupies  in  the  thoughts  of  even  the  best  and 
purest  girls  of  the  present  day.  The  lover's  natural  conceit 
also  came  to  his  aid  and  helped  to  allay  his  uneasiness.  The 
more  he  saw  of  her  the  more  he  was  convinced  that  there  was 
no  danger  of  her  being  seriously  and  permanently  attracted 
to  such  a  man  as  Blakely.  None  the  less,  he  hated  Blakely, 
and  was  wretched  when  they  were  together.  This  afternoon 
he  had  an  unreasonable  suspicion  that  Blakely  was  on  his  way 
to  call  on  Miss  Holt  when  they  had  met,  and  wished  with  all 
his  heart  that  he  could  find  some  decent  excuse  for  returning 
to  the  house  himself. 

But  this  was  obviously  out  of  the  question.  So  he  walked 
moodily  to  the  building  in  which  his  office  was  located.  In 
the  firm's  outer  room  a  belated  typewriter  was  still  at  work, 
hammering  spitefully  on  the  keys,  as  if  resentful  of  being 
detained  so  long  after  business  hours.  Under  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances Marsh  would  have  spoken  to  her  kindly  in  apol- 
ogy for  her  detention,  for  he  knew  that  she  was  working  on 


FRIENDS    AND    ACQUAINTANCES  23 

a  brief  for  him.  But  he  only  wondered  to  himself  whether 
she,  too,  would  neglect  a  good,  sterling  fellow  for  the  sake 
of  a  flashy,  dissipated  scoundrel,  with  a  heavy  cavalry  mus- 
tache and  a  pair  of  black  eyes. 

Passing  into  his  private  room,  he  picked  up  two  letters  which 
were  lying  on  the  top  of  his  desk,  and  looked  indifferently 
at  the  addresses.  The  handwriting  did  not  interest  him — 
bills  probably ;  so  he  threw  the  two  envelopes  discontentedly 
aside,  and  sat  down  to  sway  himself  moodily  from  side  to 
side  in  his  revolving-chair.  As  he  did  so  he  became  aware 
that  the  door  from  his  room  to  that  of  his  partner  was  ajar, 
and  from  within  came  the  sound  of  men's  voices,  raised  as  if 
in  heated  discussion. 

"  It's  dom  ticklish  work,  I'm  tellin'  ye,"  said  a  loud  voice, 
with  a  strong  Irish  brogue,  which  Marsh  recognized  as  belong- 
ing to  one  of  the  Democratic  city  officials.  "  That  road  passes 
mighty  near  to  the  State's  Prison,  that's  what  it  does."  There 
was  a  pause,  and  then  the  same  voice  resumed  :  "  It  isn't  for 
now,  I'm  manin',  for  the  boys  would  all  be  in  it  togither.  But 
suppose  by  any  dom  slip  the  election  was  to  go  the  wrong 
way,  and  the  Republicans  got  possession  of  the  books  and 
begun  to  make  investigations?" 

"  They're  more  likely  to  get  possession  of  the  books  if  you 
don't  do  it  than  if  you  do,"  said  another  voice,  which  Marsh 
also  thought  he  recognized.  "  But  you  can  fix  it — charge  it 
up  to  street-cleaning  or  police  or  something.  If  the  men 
strike  there  will  be  need  of  extra  expenditure  for  police, 
and  don't  you  forget  it." 

"  I'm  thinkin'  it  would  be  more  sagacious  to  assess  the 
boys  openly,"  answered  the  Irishman  ;  but  Marsh  was  alarmed 
at  what  he  had  already  heard  and  was  anxious  to  hear  no  more. 
He  opened  his  desk  noisily,  and  swung  the  rolling  top  back 
with  a  crash,  while  he  shifted  his  chair,  making  as  much 
noise  as  possible,  and  coughed  ostentatiously.  The  voices  in 
the  other  room  sank  so  that  they  reached  him  but  as  an  indis- 
tinguishable murmur.  A  few  minutes  later  Marsh  heard  a 
footstep  cross  the  adjoining  room,  the  door  was  pushed  open 
from  the  other  side,  and  General  Harter's  imposing  figure 
stood  in  the  doorway. 


24  MEN    BOKN    EQUAL 

"Hallo,  Marsh!"  be  said,  with  well -assumed  heartiness; 
"  did  not  know  you  were  here.  Come  inside  !  We  are  hold- 
ing an  informal  council  of  war." 

"  I  only  got  in  a  few  minutes  ago,"  said  Marsh,  as  he  fol- 
lowed his  partner  into  the  other  room. 

It  was  a  large,  well -lighted  apartment,  indicative  of  the 
politician  rather  than  the  lawyer.  The  long,  heavy  mahog- 
any table,  covered  with  blue  baize,  with  a  clump  of  ink- 
stands and  pens  and  blotting-paper  in  the  centre,  was  more 
suggestive  of  meetings  of  a  campaign  committee  than  of  con- 
fidential interviews  between  attorney  and  client.  At  present 
the  only  occupants  of  the  room  were  the  two  whose  voices 
Marsh  had  already  recognized.  Timothy  Sullivan,  the  big 
Irish  politician,  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair,  with  his  silk  hat 
tilted  forward  on  his  forehead  and  his  long  legs  stretched  out 
on  the  carpet  in  front  of  him,  his  toes  in  the  air.  The  other 
man,  who  stood  looking  out  of  a  window,  turned  as  the  two 
lawyers  entered,  and  showed,  as  Marsh  expected,  the  reddish- 
bearded  face  of  August  Wollmer,  the  labor-leader. 

"  Come  in,  me  boy !"  the  Irishman  called,  in  his  loud,  thick 
voice,  "  we  was  just  after  talkin'  about  yersilf.  When  the 
Gineral  here  thought  he  heard  you  outside  there  I  was  just 
sayin'  that  it  was  a  dom  fool  piece  of  business  the  way  your 
dates  were  set  for  the  campaign.  Holy  Moses !  we  want 
you  to  speak  in  every  ward  in  the  city,  and  as  many  of  the 
large  towns  outside  as  you  can  make  before  election.  It's 
the  big  audiences  that  you  ought  to  have,  instead  of  squan- 
derin'  yer  talents  on  a  lot  of  Jim  Crow,  cross-roads  places 
that  don't  poll  enough  votes  among  'em  to  elect  a  scrub-wom- 
an. What's  the  use  of  havin'  good  speakers  if  you  don't  use 
'em?  I'm  goin'  to  give  the  committee  some  straight  talk  on 
the  subject,  an'  don't  you  forget  it."  And  he  snorted  con- 
temptuously at  the  outrage  which  was  being  perpetrated. 

Marsh  knew  that  the  whole  thing  was  a  lie,  born  of  the 
impulse  of  the  moment;  but  before  he  could  reply  Wollmer 
spoke. 

"  That's  so,"  he  said.  "  I  want  to  have  you  come  out  to  the 
works  and  talk  to  the  men  there.  I  haven't  heard  you  speak 
myself,  but  those  who  have  say  you  are  the  best  man  we've  got." 


FEIENDS    AND    ACQUAINTANCES  25 

"Oh,  I  guess  they've  given  me  all  I  deserve,"  said  Marsh. 
"  I  am  down  for  Jackson  on  Thursday  and  Olympia  the  fol- 
lowing week." 

"That's  all  right!"  broke  in  the  Irishman,  impetuously. 
"  I  haven't  nothin'  to  say  against  Olympia  nor  yet  Jackson. 
They're  good  towns  enough.  But  do  ye  look  at  some  of  the 
speakers  that  are  booked  for  all  the  big  places — umbrageous 
idiots,  who  can't  hold  a  candle  to  yersilf."  He  spoke  with 
intense  indignation,  and  shook  the  square  forefinger  of  his 
fat  right  hand  at  Marsh  as  if  he  were  inculcating  at  once  all 
the  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  virtues  of  Abracax. 

Marsh  was  still  too  young  not  to  feel  pleased,  in  spite  of 
himself,  by  the  flattery  which  was  thus  thrust  upon  him,  and 
he  could  not  but  admire  the  readiness  with  which  the  gross 
Irishman  had  brought  his  batteries  to  bear. 

But  the  subject  was  not  at  the  heart  of  any  one  of  the 
party.  Marsh  showed  no  enthusiasm,  and  the  General  did 
not  speak  at  all,  so  the  conversation  soon  flickered  out  in  a 
few  desultory  oaths  and  objurgations  from  the  big  Irishman. 
In  a  short  time  the  two  visitors  took  themselves  away,  and 
Marsh,  after  some  commonplace  remarks  on  affairs  of  the 
office,  returned  to  his  desk,  leaving  the  General  alone. 

It  was  drawing  towards  evening,  and  the  typewriter  had 
gone,  leaving  the  completed  brief  on  Marsh's  desk.  He  took 
it  up,  but  did  not  read  it.  The  times  were  out  of  joint. 
Blakely,  he  supposed,  was  still  with  Miss  Holt,  and  he 
fumed  inwardly  at  the  thought.  And  then  there  was  this 
crass  Irishman  and  the  oily  Teutonic  agitator!  .  .  .  "  It  is 
not  worthy  of  you,"  she  had  said.  "  The  cause — the  party — 
the  men  whom  you  associate  with  !" 

Horace  Marsh  had  thrown  himself  into  politics  with  all  the 
single-hearted  zeal  of  the  young  reformer.  From  his  boy- 
hood he  had  taken  an  interest  in  social  questions,  and  in  his 
travels  in  Europe  had  investigated  not  a  little  for  himself  the 
condition  of  affairs  in  France,  England,  and  Germany.  He 
saw  how  selfish  and  mercenary  the  majority  of  the  "  cham- 
pions of  the  people  "  in  all  countries  were,  and  how  vicious 
was  nine-tenths  of  the  doctrine  that  was  preached  from  the 
platform  and  the  press  to  the  working-classes  of  the  world. 


26  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

But  he  had  become  convinced  also  that  mighty  forces  were 
at  work  beneath  the  surface  —  forces  which  could  not  be 
checked,  and  which  were  in  terrible  danger  of  being  turned 
into  channels  which  would  bring  horror  to  mankind.  In 
America  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  peril  was  even  nearer  than 
in  any  country  of  the  Old  World.  There  was  less  individual 
anarchism  of  the  violent  sort — less  talk  of  bombs  and  blood- 
shed. But  though  the  current  here  ran  silently,  was  it  not 
deeper  ?  In  the  movement  towards  industrial  revolution  in 
America  there  was  less  outward  threat  of  force.  It  masked 
itself  with  the  semblance  of  lawfulness  and  constitution- 
ality ;  for  the  laws  and  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States 
give  a  more  generous  shelter  to  treason  than  those  of  any 
other  nation.     And  was  not  the  danger,  therefore,  greater? 

When  Marsh  returned  to  this  country  and  took  up  life  in 
earnest  the  Third  Party  movement  was  about  beginning  to 
assume  something  like  national  importance.  He  saw  how 
grossly  the  party  in  some  localities — in  this  State  and  in  that 
— was  being  misled  and  put  to  most  pitiful  uses ;  but  in 
it  also  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  saw  a  force  rising  which 
was  as  yet  measurably  free  from  the  dangerous  teachings  of 
the  European  socialists,  and  which,  with  no  evil  traditions 
behind  it,  might  be  guided  into  paths  which  would  lead  it  to 
greater  good  than  the  world  had  seen.  If  only  the  con- 
science of  the  people  could  be  aroused !  Then  the  Ameri- 
can nation  would  sweep  away  the  wire-pullers  and  the  ward 
politicians,  and  march  on,  guiding  itself  temperately  and 
purely. 

When  he  spoke  from  the  platform  it  was  on  a  lofty  level 
and  with  a  high  enthusiasm  of  conviction  which  never  failed 
to  carry  an  audience  with  him.  When  confronted  with  the 
tricks  and  meannesses  of  the  politicians  of  the  day  they  re- 
volted him.     What  need  had  the  sacred  cause  of  them  ? 

Of  all  the  professional  politicians  whom  he  had  met,  General 
Harter  had  inspired  him  with  most  confidence.  He  had  be- 
lieved in  him  thoroughly — believed  that  he  wras  possessed  of 
the  same  high  ideals  as  himself.  He  believed  in  him  still. 
It  was  true  that  in  some  few  small  things  it  had  not  seemed 
to  him  that  his  senior  partner  was  as — well,  as  rigidly  scru- 


FRIENDS   AND    ACQUAINTANCES  27 

pulous  in  his  moral  sense  as  he  had  thought.  But  they 
had  been  small  things  only.  The  conversation  of  which  he 
caught  the  scraps  that  day  gave  him  a  deeper  uneasiness  than 
anything  that  had  yet  occurred.  And  he  sat  at  his  desk, 
pondering  moodily  until  the  room  darkened  into  twilight  and 
grew  chill. 


Ill 

THE    HOUSE    IN    FOURTH    STREET 

The  lower  end  of  Fourth  Street,  where  Mrs.  Masson  and 
her  daughters  lived,  had  once  been  the  fashionable  part  of 
town,  but  in  the  rapid  growth  of  a  Western  community  busi- 
ness of  a  petty  retail  kind  was  already  encroaching  upon  it. 
At  one  corner  of  the  square  on  which  the  Massons  lived  stood 
a  small  "  fruit  and  confectionery  "  store,  nailed  to  the  door- 
posts of  which  hung  recent  copies  of  the  cheaper  illustrated 
weekly  papers.  Immediately  opposite  a  photographer's  stu- 
dio bore  the  name  "  Eldred,  Artistic  Photographer,"  in  large 
gold  letters  of  flowing  script  on  a  black  sign  reaching  the 
full  width  of  the  second  story  of  the  building.  At  No.  319 
—  the  next  door  to  the  house  where  lived  the  object  of 
Harrington's  devotion  —  a  large  white  card -board  sign  an- 
nounced that  there  was  the  place  of  business  of  "  Madame 
Starret,  Parisian  Dressmaker.  Dressmaking  taught  in  all 
its  branches."  Nearly  every  other  house  on  both  sides  of  the 
street  bore  cards  in  the  lower  windows  or  pendent  from  the 
door-handles,  informing  passers-by  that  there  were  rooms  to 
rent  within,  or  that  boarders  were  taken  by  the  day  or  week. 

The  house  in  which  we  are  chiefly  interested  was  one  of  a 
row  of  some  six  or  seven  three-storied  brick  buildings,  uni- 
form in  size,  and  very  plain  and  bare  of  ornamentation. 
Once  white,  the  paint  had  become  blotched  and  discolored, 
especially  where  the  rain-water  leaking  from  the  rusty  pipes 
had  stained  the  walls  into  irregular,  map-like  patterns  of  yel- 
low and  gray.  The  front  door  of  each  house,  some  four  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sidewalk,  was  reached  by  a  short,  steep 
flight  of  artificial  stone  steps,  with  an  iron  hand -railing  on 
either  side. 


THE    HOUSE    IN    FOURTH    STREET  29 

As  Harrington  approached  No.  317  another  man  came  out 
of  the  doorway.  Seeing  the  electrician  advancing,  he  waited 
on  the  bottom  step,  and,  while  the  two  were  yet  some  paces 
apart,  called  out  to  him  without  formal  greeting : 

"  You  are  luckier  than  I  to-day,  Charlie  !" 

"  That  so  ?     Why,  what's  up,  Tom  ?" 

"  Annie's  side,"  said  Tom,  dolorously.  "  Miss  Jennie  says 
she  does  not  know  what's  the  matter ;  but  she's  in  bed,  and  I 
can't  see  her." 

"  I'm  sorry,  Tom,"  said  Harrington.  "  I  hope  it's  nothing 
serious." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  not.     Miss  Jennie  says  not." 

Tom  Weatherfield  was,  besides  being  very  much  in  love 
with  Jennie  Masson's  younger  sister  Annie,  a  printer.  A 
sober,  industrious  fellow  —  unusually  sober  and  industrious 
for  a  member  of  that  ordinarily  rather  dissipated  and  sport- 
ively inclined  fraternity — he  had  accumulated  means  enough 
(or,  as  he  would  have  said  himself,  "  got  enough  ahead  ")  to 
launch  out  in  a  small  job-printing  office  of  his  own.  Hav- 
ing thus  worked  out  his  independence,  he  now  felt  justified 
in  undertaking  to  support  a  wife — which  wife  he  proposed 
should  be  Annie  Masson.  There  had  been  no  definite  an- 
nouncement of  an  engagement,  for  Annie — a  fair-haired,  pink- 
cheeked  girl  of  a  rather  shallow  prettiness  —  was  inclined, 
while  accepting  Weatherfield's  attentions  publicly  enough,  to 
be  secretive  as  to  the  progress  of  their  relations.  Her  sister 
asked  no  questions,  and  those  which  Mrs.  Masson  ventured 
upon  received  but  unsatisfactory  answers. 

Harrington  liked  Tom  Weatherfield.  He  pitied  him,  of 
course,  for  the  absurdity  of  his  being  in  love  with  Annie 
Masson.  Not  that  Annie  was  not  a  good  girl  enough.  Har- 
rington always  said  that  she  was  "  one  of  the  dearest  girls  in 
the  world ;"  but  for  some  time  he  had  persisted  in  regarding 
Tom's  unconcealed  admiration  for  her  as  a  Machiavellian  ruse, 
under  cover  of  which  the  villain  hoped  to  worm  his  way 
into  the  elder  sister's  heart.  Weatherfield,  however,  was  not 
a  man  whom  it  was  possible  to  suspect  for  long,  and  Har- 
rington had  gradually  thawed  towards  the  young  printer  until 
an  entirely  cordial  friendship  had  grown  up  between  them. 


30  MEN    BORN   EQUAL 

Harrington  now  began  to  ascend  the  steps,  while  Weather- 
field,  a  picture  of  desolation,  moved  up  the  street.  After 
going  a  few  paces  he  turned. 

"By -the -bye,"  he  called  back,  "did  you  hear  that  there 
was  to  be  a  joint  meeting  of  the  steel-works  men  and  street- 
railway  hands  on  Monday  night  at  the  new  Labor  Temple  ?" 

"I  didn't  know  the  temple  was  ready." 

"  It  isn't,"  replied  Weatherfield ;  "  but  it  is  near  enough  to 
it  to  hold  a  meeting  in." 

"  What  will  they  do  ?"  Harrington  asked. 

"  Vote  to  go  out  together,  probably,"  said  Weatherfield, 
who,  as  a  member  of  the  Typographical  Union,  was  better 
informed  on  local  labor  matters  than  was  the  electrician.  "  If 
they  don't,  then  the  mill  men  will  go  out  alone,  in  the  hope  of 
the  other  fellows  following  later." 

Harrington  made  no  comment  on  this  information,  but 
turned  to  go  into  the  house,  ringing  the  bell  shortly,  and 
passing  on  into  the  hall  without  waiting  for  an  answer. 
As  he  entered  Jennie  Masson  came  out  of  a  side-room  to 
meet  him. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  your  voice,"  she  said,  as  she  held  up 
her  lips  to  be  kissed. 

Hers  was,  perhaps,  not  a  pretty  face ;  but  it  was  a  face 
that  Andrea  del  Sarto  would  have  loved.  Her  features  were 
regular  and  clearly  cut,  with  a  singularly  restful  expression, 
and  the  soft  brown  hair,  parted  smoothly  back  on  either  side 
of  an  unusually  white  forehead,  gave  her  an  air  of  curious 
and  Evangeline -like  purity.  The  gray  woollen  gown  was 
almost  concealed  under  a  large  white  apron  which  reached 
from  her  bosom  nearly  to  her  feet,  and  which  was  streaked 
here  and  there  with  patches  of  color  and  stains  of  many 
indistinguishable  hues.  The  apron  —  as  well  as  the  stains 
upon  it — needed  no  explanation,  for  she  had  come  to  greet 
her  lover  without  laying  aside  a  small  plate  which  she  held 
in  her  left  hand,  while  in  her  right  she  carried  a  little  im- 
plement with  a  crooked  onyx  tip,  known  to  china-painters  as 
a  "  burnisher." 

"  That's  pretty  !"  he  said,  approvingly,  as,  after  kissing  her, 
he  took  her  by  the  wrist  and  raised  her  hand  holding  the 


THE    HOUSE   IN   FOURTH    STREET  31 

plate,  so  that  he  could  look  at  it.     "  How  well  the  two  golds 
come  out !" 

"  Yes,  I  think  they  do,"  she  said,  putting  her  head  on  one 
side  and  looking  at  her  work  critically.  "  I  should  like  to 
do  a  set  like  this  in  pink,  but  it  is  impossible  to  get  the  right 
pink.  I  wish  I  could  go  to  the  Crown  Derby  works  and  steal 
some  of  their  color.  They  are  the  only  people  who  can  really 
get  the  proper  shade.  A  miserable  woman  sent  me  a  sample 
of  a  new  color  the  other  day  which  she  guaranteed  to  be  the 
real  Du  Barry.  I  knew  it  would  not  be  before  I  tried  it; 
and  it  came  out  of  the  kiln  a  horrid  magenta — just  as  they 
all  do." 

He  had  slipped  his  arm  around  her  waist,  and  thev  walked 
side  by  side  through  the  front  room,  from  which  she  had 
issued  (and  which  was  the  family  parlor),  to  the  dining-room, 
which  opened  off  it  to  the  rear,  and  which  also  served  as  her 
studio.  The  dining-table  was  pushed  to  one  side,  while  be- 
yond, close  under  the  window,  stood  a  smaller  table  of  plain 
deal  covered  with  a  newspaper,  on  which  were  strewn  in  con- 
fusion half  a  dozen  plates,  a  cup  or  two,  bottles  of  turpentine 
and  gold,  a  ragged  and  paint-stained  silk  handkerchief,  two 
old  knives  with  blades  thick  with  pigment,  and  a  dozen  or 
more  of  brushes,  pencils,  burnishers,  etc. — all  the  working 
outfit  of  the  china-decorator.  Some  deep  shelves  set  into  a 
recess  in  the  wall  supported  a  medley  of  china  plates  and 
cups  and  saucers,  vases  of  all  imaginable  shapes,  small  pitch- 
ers, and  odds  and  ends  of  queer  pots  and  things  intended  for 
toilet  articles.  Most  of  these  were  still  white ;  others  had 
been  experimented  on  and  abandoned ;  others  again  were 
waiting  to  be  fired,  and  still  others  had  apparently  been 
given  up  as  failures  after  firing — a  pathetic  accumulation, 
which  Harrington  had  christened  "the  poor-house,"  made 
up  as  it  was  of  the  incompetent  and  the  broken-down,  those 
who  had  started  in  life  radically  incapable,  and  had  never 
been  put  to  any  use,  and  those  who  had  been  given  their 
chance,  and  passed  through  the  furnace  and  gone  wrong. 

"  I  hear  that  Annie's  not  well,"  he  said,  as  she  took  her 
accustomed  seat  at  the  work-table. 

"  No,  poor  girl !     I  suppose  Tom  told  you  ?"     He  nodded. 


32  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

"We  do  not  know  what  is  the  matter — nothing  definite,  I 
think.  She  is  just  run  down,  and  does  not  want  to  see  any- 
body— not  even  a  doctor ;  so  I  have  persuaded  mother  to 
get  her  out  of  town  for  a  few  weeks,  and  she  is  going  to 
Aunt  Susan's,  in  Indiana,  where  she  can  have  as  much  fresh 
air  and  as  little  company  as  she  pleases.  Mother  and  Aunt 
Susan  do  not  speak,  so  I  had  to  write  myself  and  make 
arrangements." 

At  this  moment  a  sharply  nasal  voice  was  heard  calling 
from  above — one  of  those  voices  which  Dr.  Holmes  hated  so 
cordially.  In  the  West  the  responsibility  for  this  quality  of 
voice  is  thrown  upon  New  England  (for  which,  perhaps,  Dr. 
Holmes  himself  is  largely  to  blame),  but  it  must  be  confessed 
that  long  sojourn  in  the  Western  climate,  and  even  distilla- 
tion to  a  second  and  Western-born  generation,  does  not  render 
it  materially  more  dulcet. 

"  Jennie  !  Jennie  !"  called  the  voice. 

Jennie  laid  down  the  plate  and  burnisher,  and  went  into 
the  hall. 

"  Yes,  mother !" 

"  Is  that   Harrington   fellow   down  there  ?"    Mrs.   Masson 
asked,  loudly  enough  (and  with  obvious  intention)  for  Har- 
rington to  hear. 
"  Yes,  mother !" 

"  How  long  is  he  going  to  stay  2" 

"  I  don't  know,  mother ;  I  haven't  asked  him,"  replied  the 
girl. 

"  Well,  don't  he  know  Annie's  sick  ?" 
"  Yes,  mother !" 

The  person  up-stairs  could  be  heard  moving  away,  grum- 
bling incoherently  to  herself,  having,  she  conjectured,  attained 
her  object  of  making  the  man  below  sufficiently  uncom- 
fortable. Indeed,  as  the  girl  returned  to  the  room  she 
found  Harrington  (although  he  was  not  unused  to  these  en- 
couraging receptions  from  the  lady  of  the  house)  looking 
very  miserable. 

"  I  am  awfully  sorry,  Jen  girl !"  he  exclaimed,  ruefully. 
"  Why,  dear  ?    It  isn't  your  fault,"  she  said,  as  she  returned 
to  her  seat  with  a  slightly  heightened  color  in  her  clear  cheeks 


THE    HOUSE    IX    FOURTH    STREET  33 

and  recommenced  rubbing  the  plate  vigorously,  almost  vi- 
ciously, with  the  little  burnisher.  "  Besides,"  she  added,  after 
a  pause,  and  looking  up  smilingly,  "  I  like  you  well  enough 
for  two." 

"  I  believe  you  do,  sweetheart !"  And  he  slipped  from 
his  chair  on  to  his  knees,  putting  his  arms  around  her  waist 
and  looking  up  into  her  face.  "  I  know  you  do,  Jen ;  but  I 
am  almost  afraid  to  say  it.  It  seems  so  presumptuous  and 
impossible." 

She  had  laid  down  the  plate  and  the  burnisher,  and  stroked 
his  hair  back  caressingly  from  his  forehead. 

"  I  don't  only  like  you,  Charlie,"  she  said,  softly,  "  I  love 
you.  I  believe  vou  are  just  as  good  and  true  as  a  man  can 
be." 

"  I  would  have  to  be,  darling,  to  be  good  enough  for  you." 

Their  lips  met,  and  Harrington  returned  to  his  seat.  Some 
minutes  of  silence  followed,  in  which  both  wrere  very  happy. 
The  chill  of  the  icy  blast  from  above-stairs  had  vanished  un- 
der the  warmth  of  the  one  kiss. 

Mrs.  Masson,  it  should  be  said,  was  not  Jennie's  own  mother. 
She  was  Masson's  second  wife,  and  when  he  married  her  Jen- 
nie was  already  ten,  and  her  sister  seven  years  of  age.  The 
girls  had  never  liked  their  step-mother,  and  since  their  father's 
death,  four  years  before,  had  known  little  of  the  comfort  of 
home-life.  Jennie  was  patient  towards  the  older  woman — 
more  patient  than  her  impetuous  sister — and  never  failed  to 
show  her  the  respect,  even  if  she  could  not  feel  the  love, 
which  was  due  to  a  mother. 

For  a  while  nothing  was  to  be  heard  in  the  room  but  the 
peculiar  tinkle  of  the  onyx  point  on  the  china,  and  Harring- 
ton sat  and  watched  the  rapidity  with  which  she  handled  the 
little  tool.  She  had  unusually  white  and  shapely  hands,  al- 
most ideally  perfect  hands,  in  spite  of  the  constant  contact 
with  turpentine  to  which  they  were  subjected,  and  Harrington 
liked  to  look  at  them. 

At  last  she  broke  the  silence. 

"  Tom  was  telling  me  that  the  trouble  with  the  men  up  at 
the  works  is  coming  to  a  head." 

"  Yes,  I'm  afraid  it's  so,"  said  Harrington.     "  It's  an  idiotic 


34  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

thing,  I  think,  and  our  friend  Wollmer  is  more  to  blame 
for  it  than  any  one  else.  The  company  is  losing  mon- 
ey; it  must  be  at  present  prices.  All  the  higher  salaries 
have  been  cut,  but  none  of  us-  has  thought  of  grumbling. 
We  can't  expect  the  company  to  go  on  in  times  like  these, 
when  it  is  running  behind  right  along,  to  pay  us  as  much  as 
it  does  when  it  is  making  money.  It  can't  do  it.  Moreover, 
it  will  not  hurt  the  company  to  shut  down — that  is  to  say, 
that  of  course  it  hurts  any  company  to  go  out  of  business  for 
a  while,  and  with  a  large  plant  like  ours  there  is  considerable 
actual  expense  and  danger  in  shutting  down  and  opening  up 
again,  apart  from  the  loss  of  business.  But  the  loss  would 
not  be  as  great  as  it  would  be  from  running  three  months 
with  the  present  pay-rolls  and  business  as  it  is  to-day.  A 
company  hates  to  shut  down  if  it  can  avoid  it.  It  probably 
could  avoid  it — anyway,  it  is  willing  to  try — if  the  men  would 
consent  to  the  reduction.  If  they  won't  consent,  the  works 
will  shut  down,  that  is  all.  The  men  have  the  chance  of  work- 
ing at  about  eighty  per  cent,  of  their  present  pay  or  not 
working  at  all.  They  cannot  possibly  compel  the  company 
to  go  on  at  the  old  scale  ;  that  would  simply  mean  insolvency ; 
and  it  is  better  to  shut  down  and  wait  for  better  times  than 
it  is  to  fail." 

"  Then  why  don't  the  men  see  it  in  that  way  ?"  she  asked. 

"Because  they  are  fools,  most  of  them.  Because  they 
choose  to  believe  what  Wollmer  and  the  rest  tell  them,  in- 
stead of  looking  at  the  facts  and  facing  the  situation  square- 
ly. They  are  just  like  any  other  lot  of  men.  A  few  loud- 
mouthed, restless,  pernicious  fellows  among  them  do  all  the 
talking.  Two-thirds  of  the  rest  never  think  for  themselves, 
and  believe  whatever  the  leaders  tell  them.  The  other  third 
sit  back  and  say  nothing,  either  because  they  know  it  is  use- 
less or  because  they  are  afraid  of  the  union." 

"But  I  can't  understand  how  men  can  be  so  silly,"  she 
said.     "  Why  does  not  somebody  tell  them  the  truth  ?" 

"  Tell  them,  darling  !  Who  can  ?  They  won't  listen  to  any- 
body. The  press  sometimes  does,  but  it  is  the  papers  which 
they  don't  read.  The  papers  which  they  do  read  cater  to 
them  and  encourage  them.     If  a  sensible  man  gets  up  in 


THE    HOUSE    IX    FOURTH    STREET  35 

meeting  and  tries  to  speak,  he  is  cried  down  and  ridiculed  ; 
and  more  than  that,  he  is  treated  as  a  spy  and  a  'scab'  ever 
afterwards.  Nobody  can  tell  them  anything  except  these 
same  loud-mouthed  ones  and  the  union  leaders,  who  have  no 
ends  to  serve  but  their  own  aggrandizement,  and  haven't  done 
a  stroke  of  work  for  years  except  with  their  mouths." 

"  But  Mr.  Wollmer  talks  here  about  the  tyranny  of  the 
corporations,  and  says  that  the  company  is  trampling  the  life 
out  of  the  laboring  men." 

"Of  course  he  does,"  said  Harrington,  hotly.  "Tramp- 
ling the  life,  indeed,  when  it  furnishes  them  their  bread  and 
butter !  When  the  works  were  started  it  was  not,  of  course, 
as  a  charitable  institution.  It  was  not  with  the  direct  inten- 
tion of  furnishing  work  and  a  living  to  so  many  men  and 
their  families.  But  the  result  has  been  the  same.  The 
stockholders  who  have  put  their  money  into  it  have  not  so 
far  received  a  penny  in  return.  The  first  year  the  works 
about  paid  expenses.  The  second  year  they  made  a  profit, 
but  instead  of  declaring  a  dividend  it  was  decided  to  increase 
the  plant,  and  that  increase  is  only  just  completed.  About 
the  time  they  began  to  put  in  the  new  machinery  the  finan- 
cial panic  struck  the  country,  and  since  then  business  has 
been  at  a  stand-still.  Not  only  has  the  company  not  made 
any  money,  but  it  must  have  had  to  borrow  heavily.  The 
men  who  invested  about  two  million  dollars  in  the  thing  have 
so  far  not  received  a  cent's  return.  More  than  that,  they 
have  lost  about  half  a  million  or  three-quarters  of  a  million  of 
their  money.  So  much  has  just  gone  out  of  sight.  There 
has  been  the  depreciation  in  value  by  wear  and  tear  in  three 
years'  run,  and  then  in  addition  to  that  all  property  has  gone 
off  from  twenty  to  thirty  per  cent,  in  value  during  the  panic. 
Up  to  date  the  men  who-  created  the  mills  have  lost  some- 
where from  half  a  million  dollars  upwards.  Meanwhile  they 
have  paid  for  labor  some  five  or  six  million  dollars,  first  and 
last.  Every  penny  there  has  been  in  it  the  men  have  got, 
and  half  a  million  or  so  to  boot.  They  have  taken  no 
chances,  and  have  had  to  stand  no  loss.  Everything  they 
have  done  they  have  been  paid  for  in  cash  on  the  10th  of 
every  month — and  paid  in  good  wages,  too.     Some  of  those 


86  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

men  get  six  and  seven  dollars  a  day.  Now,  because  the 
company  cannot  stand  it  any  longer — after  it  has  lost  money 
and  borrowed  and  run  behind — and  has  to  ask  the  men  to 
help  it  through  by  taking  a  cut  in  wages,  they  talk  about 
tyranny  and  trampling  the  life  out  of  them.  Oh,"  he  added, 
in  a  tone  of  deep  disgust,  "it  makes  me  tired  !" 

"  What  will  happen  if  they  do  strike  ?"  she  asked,  anx- 
iously. 

"They  will  be  beaten,"  he  replied.  "They  have  not  a 
ghost  of  a  chance  of  success.  They  cannot  possibly  com- 
pel the  company  to  do  the  impossible.  They  may  come  to 
time  quickly,  or  they  may  stay  out  and  make  trouble — hang 
around  and  talk  anarchism  and  drink  while  their  wives  and 
children  are  hungry  at  home.  They  may  grow  violent,  and 
riot  and  destroy  property.  Then  they  will  end  by  '  compro- 
mising,' which  is  the  phrase  the  labor  leader  uses  for  back- 
ing down  when  he  has  been  beaten  —  the  same  sort  of  a 
compromise  as  Lee  made  at  Appomattox." 

"  No ;  but  what  I  meant  was,  how  will  it  affect  you  ?"  she 
asked. 

"  Oh,  I  may  be  out  of  a  job  for  a  while,  but  most  proba- 
bly the  company  would  keep  me  in  some  way.  If  there  is 
any  need  of  men — either  as  watchmen  or  special  police  or  dep- 
uty-sheriffs— in  case  of  trouble,  I  should  offer  my  services.  I 
can  be  of  a  good  deal  more  use  than  strangers  who  don't 
know  the  works." 

"But  you  will  not  put  yourself  in  any  danger,  will  you?" 
and  she  laid  her  hand  tenderly  on  his  knee. 

"  Not  unless  I  have  to,"  he  said,  laughingly,  and  taking  her 
hand  in  his,  "  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  I  have  too  good  a 
thing  waiting  for  me  next  January — a  thing  with  brown  hair 
and  the  sweetest  gray  eyes  in  the  world."  He  pressed  her 
soft,  white  hand  caressingly  to  his  lips  and  cheek,  and  then 
continued,  lightly  :  "  But  all  this  is  a  long  way  ahead.  The 
men  have  not  struck  yet.  There  are  too  many  '  ifs '  in  the 
way  before  I  can  do  anything  very  desperate  for  us  to  worry 
about  it  now." 

Once  more  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Masson  was  heard  calling — 
if  possible,  a  shade  more  sharply  than  before. 


THE    HOUSE    IN    FOURTH    STREET  37 

"  Yes,  mother,"  said  the  daughter,  hurrying  into  the  hall 
and  speaking  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  Is  that  man  there  yet  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  Well,  ain't  it  nearly  supper-time  ?" 

"  It  must  be  within  an  hour  of  it,  mother." 

And  the  old  lady  was  heard  retreating  again,  with  Par- 
thian murmurings  of  discontent,  into  her  room  above. 

Harrington  was  only  amused  this  time  as  he  came  forward 
to  meet  his  sweetheart. 

"Well,  Jen,"  he  said,  "I  guess  I  had  better  be  going,  any- 
way." 

They  stood  inside  the  room  while  they  bade  each  other  a 
lovers'  farewell,  and  walked  out  hand  in  hand  into  the  hall.  As 
they  opened  the  front  door  Wollmer  was  ascending  the  steps. 

"  Good-evening,  Miss  Masson,"  he  said,  raising  his  hat,  and 
without  recognizing  Harrington.  "  How  is  your  sister  this 
evening?" 

"She  is  doing  nicely,  thank  you,"  she  replied,  standing 
aside  to  let  him  pass  into  the  house,  where,  as  Harrington 
had  told  Marsh,  he  was  now  boarding.  The  others  made  no 
comment  on  the  meeting,  but  their  eyes  met  laughingly. 

"Good-bye,  Jen,"  said  Harrington,  tenderly,  taking  her  hand, 
and,  after  a  stealthy  glance  up  and  down  the  street,  raising  it 
hastily  to  his  lips. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  as  he  ran  lightly  down  the  steps. 
After  a  couple  of  paces  he  turned  and  lifted  his  hat  to  her, 
while  she  laid  the  tip  of  a  white  forefinger  on  her  lips  and 
tossed  him  the  most  fairy-like  of  kisses. 

How  quiet  the  street  was  on  a  Saturday  afternoon!  She 
thought  so  as  she  stood  for  a  moment  and  watched  his  re- 
treating figure,  then  turned  and  looked  the  other  way,  where 
no  moving  thing  was  in  sight  but  one  stray  dog,  sniffing  aim- 
lessly along  the  gutter.  He  thought  so,  too,  as  he  walked 
briskly  northward,  and  turned  the  corner  where  the  news- 
papers fixed  to  the  door-post  of  the  little  fruit-store  flapped 
drearily  in  the  slight  breeze  that  was  blowing.  And  neither 
he  nor  she  had  the  gift  of  second-sight  to  enable  them  to  see 
that  street  but  a  few  short  weeks  in  the  future. 


38  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

Have  you  ever  noticed  how  a  house  which  has  become 
suddenly  notorious  as  the  scene  of  some  awful  deed  of  vio- 
lence, or  because  a  great  criminal  has  lived  within  its  walls, 
changes  its  aspect  from  that  day  ?  You  may  have  passed  the 
house  in  your  daily  walks  for  years,  till  every  window  and 
chimney,  every  shrub  and  tree  about  it,  is  familiar.  It  was 
nothing  more  than  a  commonplace  homestead  enough — no 
.more  than  one  grain  of  corn  in  a  bushel-measure  full.  Sud- 
denly the  day  comes  when  crowds  flock  to  stand  and  gaze 
upon  it,  and  you  stand  with  them.  And  now  for  the  first 
time  it  comes  to  you  that  this  house  stands  apart  from  every 
other  house.  It  bears  the  impress  of  crime  on  every  face  of 
it.  How  forbidding  is  that  low  doorway  ! —  and  the  rear 
window  (the  very  kitchen,  doubtless,  where  the  deed  was 
done),  set  back  in  the  angle  of  the  abutting  wall !  How  did 
you  fail  to  notice  it  before?  The  very  hasp  on  the  front 
gateway  has  a  sinister  look,  as  if  it  were  put  there  that  it 
might  lift  noiselessly  to  the  midnight  criminal. 

Is  there  no  science,  no  architectural  phrenology  or  palmis- 
trv,  by  aid  of  which  we  can  tell  these  houses  in  advance — di- 
vine which  building  is  destined  to  be  the  abode  of  virtue  and 
peace,  and  which  to  live  to  be  pointed  at  with  shuddering, 
and  "  bear  the  rust  of  murder  on  its  walls  "  ?  It  needs  no 
science  after  the  event. 


IV 

OVER    THE    DINNER-TABLE 

Monday  evening,  which  was  the  date  set,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered, for  the  joint  meeting  of  the  mill  hands  and  street-rail- 
way men,  was  also  the  time  at  which  Miss  Holt  had  told  Hor- 
ace Marsh  that  she  and  her  father  counted  upon  seeing  him  at 
dinner. 

In  former  days  the  comfortable  yellow  stone  house  had  been 
the  scene  of  frequent  entertainments  on  a  generous  scale. 
Since  Mrs.  Holt's  death,  however,  three  years  before,  Mr.  Holt 
and  his  daughter  had  not  found  the  heart  to  undertake,  any 
functions  of  hospitality  more  formidable  than  an  occasional 
dinner-party,  except  when,  once  or  twice,  the  house  had  been 
thrown  open  for  a  concert  or  a  reading  in  aid  of  charity. 

Within  a  few  weeks  after  the  loss  of  his  wife,  Mr.  Holt,  find- 
ing life  insupportable  in  the  old  home,  haunted  by  the  mem- 
ories of  twenty  years  of  her  presence,  had  taken  his  daughter 
to  Europe.  Returning  himself  a  few  months  later,  to  take  up 
his  quarters  in  a  hotel,  he  had  left  her  in  Paris  with  some 
friends,  in  whose  company  she  had  spent  a  year  and  a  half  in 
England  and  on  the  Continent.  The  house,  which  had  been  in 
the  care  of  servants  during  these  two  years,  had  been  reopened 
on  Miss  Holt's  return  to  America,  and  for  the  past  twelve 
months  the  father  and  daughter  had  lived  there,  not  recon- 
ciled to  their  bereavement,  but  growing  by  degrees  less  acutely 
and  constantly  conscious  of  it,  and  coming  gradually  to  re- 
assume  the  family's  former  position  in  the  social  life  of  the 
community. 

Miss  Holt  made  a  sweetly  gracious  hostess,  and  Horace 
thought  that  she  had  never  looked  more  charmingly  than  when 
she  greeted  him  that  evening.     She  was  dressed  in  a  gown  of 


40  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

black  and  pale  violet,  cut  moderately  low,  in  an  almost  straight 
line  from  shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  showing  to  advantage  a 
neck  which,  she  was  perhaps  not  unconscious,  was  good  to  be 
seen.  A  deep  bertha  of  black  lace  fell  over  the  violet  waist,  and 
a  drapery  of  the  same  material,  with  one  broad  satin  band  half- 
way down,  veiled  the  violet  satin  skirt.  The  large  black  satin 
sleeves,  puffed  very  full,  ended  just  above  the  elbow,  showed  a 
well-formed  and  very  white  arm  below.  Her  only  jewel  was 
a  large  and  quaintly-set  amethyst  ring  on  her  left  hand — a  ring 
which  had  belonged  to  her  mother  and  grandmother  before  her. 

Mr.  Holt  was  a  spare  man  of  less  than  medium  height;  in- 
deed, Horace  noticed  now,  as  they  were  side  by  side,  that  he 
was  only  almost  imperceptibly  taller  than  his  daughter.  AYbite- 
headed,  gentle  of  manner  and  low-voiced,  he  had  the  air  of  the 
scholar  and  recluse  rather  than  of  the  man  of  affairs;  yet  in 
all  the  State  there  was  no  one  whose  voice  and  example  were 
so  powerful  in  financial  and  commercial  matters  as  Lawrence 
Holt's.  In  conversation  he  had  a  trick  of  keeping  his  eyes  on 
the  ground,  as  if  listening  with  attention  to  all  that  was  said, 
then  raising  them  suddenly  to  his  interlocutor's  face,  when 
their  blackness  and  brilliancy  were  not  a  little  startling  to 
those  unaccustomed  to  it.  It  was  probably  this  trick  that  was 
responsible  for  his  reputation  of  being  a  difficult  man  for  a 
stranger  to  talk  to,  although  no  one  of  his  varied  interests  and 
the  many  demands  upon  bis  time  could  have  been  more  unaf- 
fectedly easy  of  access  to  all  comers. 

The  dinner  being  given  as  an  informal  welcome  to  Judge 
Jessel  and  his  wife  on  their  return  after  spending  the  summer 
abroad,  the  judge,  a  massive,  square-cut  'man,  with  a  clean- 
shaven and  ideally-judicial  face,  was  seated  at  the  table  on  Miss 
Holt's  right  hand  and  Mrs.  Jessel  in  the  same  relation  to  the 
host.  Mrs.  Jessel,  scarcely  less  massive  than  her  spouse, 
though  shorter,  was  a  dear  motherly  soul  whom  everybody 
loved.  There  are  people  of  whom  we  say  that  they  are  "good- 
hearted,"  and  it  is  intended  and  accepted  as  the  poorest  and 
most  negative  compliment — a  last  resort  of  politeness  towards 
one  of  whom  we  would  not  speak  ill.  There  are  others  in 
whom  good-heartedness  is  so  pronounced  and  positive  a  qual- 
ity that  it  transcends  all  others,  and  we  speak  of  it  without  a 


OVER    THE    DINNER-TABLE  41 

thought  as  to  whether  they  have  all  or  no  other  virtues  behind 
it.  Everybody  loved  Mrs.  Jesse],  without  stopping  to  ques- 
tion if  she  were  intellectual.  Nor  would  any  one  have  thought 
of  suggesting  that  she  was  not  the  best  of  company,  although 
in  parties  of  more  than  two  her  contribution  to  the  conversa- 
tion would  often  be  confined  for  half  an  hour  together  to  the 
constant  flicker  of  a  kindly  smile  and  an  occasional  nod  of 
sympathy  and  encouragement. 

Seated  at  the  table,  Horace  found  himself  with  Grace  Will- 
erby — a  school-day  friend  of  Miss  Holt,  who  was  now  staying 
in  the  house  on  a  visit  which  promised  to  last  some  weeks — 
(who  was  to  Judge  Jessel's  right)  on  one  side,  and  Mrs.  Bartop, 
the  wife  of  Major  Bartop,  in  regard  to  whose  politics  Horace 
had  found  it  necessary  to  enlighten  Miss  Holt,  on  the  other. 
Beyond  Mrs.  Bartop  sat  Mr.  "  Jack "  Tisserton  ;  then  Mrs. 
Flail,  who  occupied  the  seat  on  the  left  hand  of  the  host. 
Facing  our  friend  sat  Arthur  Pryce,  a  long-limbed  Englishman, 
with  Mrs.  Tisserton,  who  had  Major  Bartop  on  her  right,  be- 
tween her  and  Miss  Holt,  'on  one  side,  and  a  Miss  Caley  on  the 
other. 

As  soon  as  the  party  was  seated  the  deep  voice  of  Judge 
Jessel  made  itself  heard. 

"  What  a  comfort  it  is  to  be  back  in  the  civilized  West 
again,"  he  said,  in  the  tone  of  a  man  who  settles  comfortably 
in  an  easy-chair  from  a  hard  day  in  the  saddle,  "after  months 
of  the  crude  and  barbarous  East.  In  Europe  there  is  more  lux- 
ury and  less  comfort — at  least,  for  the  stranger — than  I  had 
conceived  possible." 

"  You  probably  saw  England  only  from  the  hotel  point  of 
view,"  suggested  the  Englishman,  "  and  not  from  private 
houses.  Englishmen  themselves  never  live  in  their  own  hotels, 
you  know." 

"  There  is  something  in  that,  I  suspect,"  said  the  judge — 
"like  the  Arabs  who,  for  fear  of  the  tax-gatherers,  preserve 
an  outward  appearance  of  abject  poverty,  and  keep  their  lux- 
ury for  the  private  recesses  of  their  own  dwellings.  But  it  is 
not  hospitable.  Strangers  may  be  pardoned  for  wishing  that 
they  would  turn  things  inside  out  once  in  a  while.  However, 
we  did  spend  a  week  or  two  in  the  house  of  some  friends  in 


42  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

Kensington  Gate,  in  London,  and  it  was  the  most  amazingly 
well-ordered  establishment  that  I  ever  saw.  I  will  always  be- 
lieve that  there  must  have  been  a  huge  Corliss  engine  some- 
where down  in  the  cellar,  pounding  silently  along,  whose  revo- 
lutions governed  all  the  movements  of  the  house.  Mrs.  Jessel 
would  not  let  me  go  down  at  night  to  see,  lest  I  should  catch 
cold.  But  such  unfailing  punctuality  and  regularity  of  move- 
ment are  not  in  the  nature  of  human  beings.  There  were  times 
when  it  was  oppressive.     I  wanted  to  stand  up  and  shout." 

During  this  conversation  Marsh  had  felt  Mrs.  Bartop,  on  his 
right,  growing  more  and  more  uneasy.  Mrs.  Bartop  had  no 
sympathy  with  the  West.  After  a  continued  residence  in  one 
locality  of  some  twenty-five  years,  she  still  persisted  in  regard- 
ing it  only  as  a  temporary  exile.  She  would  have  her  friends 
believe  that  this  quarter  of  a  century  was  no  more  than  a  mere 
way-side  stoppage  in  her  life's  journey — but  the  alighting  of  a 
bird  on  a  bough  in  mid-flight.  "As  soon  as  Bartop's  business 
will  permit,"  she  would  say,  "  we  intend  to  go  back.  All  my 
family  are  in  the  East,  you  know."  Meanwhile  Bartop's  busi- 
ness had  not  permitted  for  twenty-five  years,  and  showed  no 
signs  of  being  less  exacting  in  the  future.  With  all  its  ab- 
surdity, there  was  something  of  pathos  in  the  uncompromising 
hopefulness  of  the  woman — the  hopefulness  of  Dickens's  pris- 
oners in  the  Fleet.  In  appearance  and  disposition  Mrs.  Bar- 
top  was  considerably  more  of  a  grenadier  than  her  kindly  hus- 
band, who,  nevertheless,  had  the  record  of  a  dashing  cavalry 
officer  on  the  Confederate  side  in  the  Civil  War. 

"You- remind  me,  judge,"  she  broke  in  at  last,  in  a  rather 
hard  voice,  "of  the  Chicagoan  who  did  not  like  Switzerland 
because  it  was  too  hilly.  '  Give  him,'  he  said,  '  Illinois.'  I 
cannot  imagine  how  anybody  can  really  like  the  West,  with  the 
bad  service  and  the  dirty  streets  and  the  newness  of  every- 
thing. It  is  so  impossible  to  get  anything  here,"  she  added, 
comprehensively,  "  or  to  know  what  anybody  is  doing." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  speaking  of  the  Eastern  States,"  said  the 
judge,  good-humoredly,  "  but  of  Europe."  But  Mrs.  Bartop, 
who  had  never  been  abroad,  recognized  no  difference  between 
New  York  and  Boston  and  London  and  Paris.  The  civilized 
world  was  divided  into  two  geographical  entities,  the  "  East," 


OVER    THE    DINNER-TABLE  43 

comprising  all  Europe,  Asia,  and  Africa,  and  the  Eastern  States 
of  America,  and  the  "  West,"  consisting  of  that  part  of  the 
United  States  west  of  the  Alleghanies  ;  and  she  had  her  doubts 
as  to  whether  this  latter  half  was  part  of  the  civilized  world. 

"It  does  not  seem  to  me,"  said  the  musically  placid  voice 
of  Mrs.  Tisserton,  "that  there  is  much  West  any  longer.  I 
have  looked  for  the  typically  Western  town  so  far  in  vain. 
When  I  was  in  Minnesota  I  thought  that  surely  that  would  be 
Western  enough,  but  the  people  of  Minneapolis  pride  themselves 
on  being  not  at  all  WTestern.  And  they  are  not.  They  are  in 
the  first  generation  as  yet  out  there,  and  the  people  all  came 
from  the  East — chiefly  from  Maine  apparently,  except  those 
who  are  Scandinavians,  and  I  don't  know  but  that  some  of 
them  came  from  Maine  too.  In  Helena,  Montana,  it  was  the 
same.  Society  there  is  composed  entirely,  we  are  told,  of  mem- 
bers of  the  best  Eastern  families.  This  summer  I  was  in  Col- 
orado Springs  for  a  while,  and  one  of  the  first  things  I  learned 
was  that  I  should  find  the  place  'just  a  little  bit  of  the  East  plant- 
ed in  the  middle  of  the  West.'  Is  there  any  West  any  more  ?" 
"  Not  this  side  of  Buffalo  and  Pittsburg,"  said  the  judge, 
laughingly.  "That  is  where  the  West  used  to  be.  Now  the 
East  has  just  flooded  over  and  beyond  that,  and  has  left  the 
West  stagnating  behind  it." 

"  Who  is  it,"  asked  Miss  Holt,  "  who  calls  Dakota  a  '  wil- 
derness lighted  by  electricity  '?" 

"  When  I  was  in  Dakota—"  began  the  Englishman,  senten- 
tiously  addressing  Miss  Caley,  who  sat  beside  him,  in  evident 
preparation  for  an  anecdote  of  some  length.  Mr.  Pryce's  anec- 
dotes were  notorious.  He  was  reputed  the  dullest  story-teller 
in  the  Western  States,  and  when  he  commenced  with  "that 
reminds  me  "  his  friends  fled.  His  turning  to  Miss  Caley  was 
a  signal  for  the  breaking  up  of  the  general  conversation.  Mrs. 
Flail  at  once  attacked  the  judge  for  information  as  to  whether, 
as  he  had  mentioned  Kensington  Gate,  he  gave  much  time  to 
the  study  of  the  antiquities  in  the  Kensington  Museum  ;  Tis- 
serton engaged  Mrs.  Bartop  with :  "  I  was  talking  to  your  hus- 
band the  other  day  ;"  while  Miss  Holt  leaned  over  to  the  major 
with  a  malicious  glance  at  Horace,  which  the  latter  caught,  and 
said: 


44  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

11 1  did  not  know  till  the  other  day  that  you  were  a  Demo- 
crat, major." 

"What  enemy  has  done  this  thing?"  asked  the  major,  play- 
fully.    "  Who  has  been  seeking  to  prejudice  you  against  me  ?" 

"No  one;  it  was  said  in  self-excuse.  A  friend  of  mine,  who 
is  also  a  Democrat,  quoted  your  example  at  me  as  a  proof  of 
his  own  respectability." 

"Oh!"  and  the  major  also  threw  a  glance  of  intelligence  in 
the  direction  of  Marsh.  "  Well,  as  I  have  company  in  my 
shame,  I  do  not  mind  confessing.  It  was  born  in  me,  I  am 
afraid,  Miss  Holt — a  sort  of  hereditary  taint." 

"My  friend  also  said  that  you  took  no  active  part  in  poli- 
tics now — which  is  the  reason,  I  suppose,  that  your  other  friends 
are  in  doubt  which  side  you  belong  to.  Have  you  retired 
from  the  lists,  or  are  you  only  waiting,  like  Le  Noir  Faineant, 
to  see  which  is  the  weaker  side,  then  to  plunge  in  and  give 
your  help  to  those  who  need  it?" 

"  Nothing  sochivalric  as  that,  I'm  afraid,"  replied  the  major, 
"I  suppose  I  have  retired  from  the  lists.  The  fact  simply  is 
that  though  I  am  a  Democrat,  I  am  not  a  Populist.  As  I  say, 
I  am  a  Democrat  from  heredity  and  from  conviction.  I  could 
not  have  inherited  Populism  because  it  did  not  exist  when  I 
was  born,  and  as  for  conviction — the  Populists  haven't  any  ; 
only  theories." 

"So,  since  the  two  have  united,  you  have  no  party  to  which 
you  can  belong.     Poor  man  !" 

"It  is  a  pitiful  spectacle,  is  it  not?"  he  asked.  "Mrs.  Bar- 
top  advances  it  as  another  argument  why  we  should  go  back 
East.  To  think  of  living  in  a  country  where  you  cannot  even 
get  politics  (let  alone  bonnets  and  dresses)  to  match  your  com- 
plexion !  I  ought  to  say,  however,  that  if  there  were  more 
Populists  of  the  stripe  of  your  friend  there,  it  would  not  be  so 
difficult  to  work  with  them.      I  admire  him." 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  Mr.  Marsh  ?"  asked  Miss  Holt,  raising 
her  voice  and  addressing  Horace.  Of  course  he  had  heard. 
Though  endeavoring  to  maintain  an  animated  conversation 
with  Miss  Willerby,  he  had  not  lost  a  word  of  what  was  being 
said  at  the  foot  of  the  table. 

"I  beg  your  pardon?"  he  asked,  looking  innocently  at  his 


OVER   THE    DINNER-TABLE  45 

questioner.  Miss  Holt,  with  a  movement  of  her  hand,  waived 
the  responsibility  of  explanation  on  to  her  neighbor. 

"  We  were  talking  politics,"  said  the  major,  and  by  this 
time  the  whole  company  was  listening,  "  and  I  was  explaining 
why,  though  I  was  a  Democrat  by  inheritance,  I  was  not  a 
Populist." 

"  He  was  also  saying,"  added  Miss  Holt,  "that  if  there  were 
more  fusionists  like  Mr.  Horace  Marsh  it  would  be  less  difficult 
to  work  with  them." 

Horace  bowed  his  acknowledgments.  "  And  if,"  he  said, 
"there  were  more  men  like  Major  Bartop  with  us,  ours  would 
be  easier  work.  We  need  you  badly,  major,"  addressing  him 
directly.  "The  sons  of  Zeruiah,"  indicating  the  other  end  of 
the  table  with  a  motion  of  his  head,  "  are  in  danger  of  being 
too  hard  for  us." 

"  It  is  not  so  much  Mr.  Holt  and  the  judge  and  the  other 
disreputable  Republicans  that  you  have  to  fear,"  said  the  major ; 
"  it  is  your  own  ragged  regiment  that  is  likely  to  make  the 
trouble." 

"All  the  more  reason  then,  surely,"  said  Horace,  "  that  such 
men  as  you — men  who  are  honored  by  the  rank  and  file,  and 
who  have  won  their  confidence  by  gallant  leadership  in  former 
fights,  often  very  hopeless  ones,  should  not  fail  them  now. 
How  can  you  expect  a  party  to  go  right  if  you  leave  them  to 
the  leadership  of  the  wrong  men  ?  If  you  would  talk  to  them 
you  could  do  more  in  a  week  than  I  could  hope  to  do  in  two 
years." 

"The  political  party  does  not  commonly  care  to  listen  to 
anybody  who  does  not  happen  to  tell  it  just  what  it  wants  to 
hear.  I  have  '  been  there,'  as  they  say,"  and  the  major  smiled 
cynically  in  remembrance  of  former  defections  from  his  stand- 
ard when  he  strove  to  lead  his  party  by  paths  which  it  liked  not. 

"  But  this  party  has  as  yet  no  preference  as  to  what  it  hears 
— within  certain  limits,"  continued  Horace.  "  It  is  waiting 
with  its  ear  to  the  ground  to  catch  the  voice  of  its  king.  It 
can  be  led." 

"My  sympathies,"  broke  in  Judge  Jessel,  "are  with  Mr. 
Marsh,  I  confess,  although  I  am  a  disreputable  Republican. 
Looking,  that  is  to  say,  at  the  Populist  cause  as  a  national 


46  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

movement,  it  is  leaderless.  It  might  be  moulded.  The  hour 
has  arrived,  but  the  man  is  yet  to  seek.  Perhaps  we  have  no 
statesman  in  this  country  to-day  who  is  equal  to  the  task;  if 
there  were  such  a  man — a  man  whose  voice  the  nation  was  al- 
ready accustomed  to  listen  to,  whose  principles  were  beyond 
reproach,  and  his  public  career  unstained  even  by  a  suspicion — 
he  might  place  himself  at  the  head  of  the  movement,  and  make 
it,  perhaps,  as  noble  in  its  ends  as  any  party  that  the  world  has 
seen.  But  when  we  come  to  look  at  the  Populists  locally,  the 
case  is  different.  The  party  is  not  lovely,  viewed  piecemeal, 
and  it  is  becoming  worse  daily.  I  fear  that  it  is  not  through 
Populism  that  the  salvation  of  the  country  is  to  come.  It  is 
more  likely  to  be  through  the  reaction  against  Populism.  The 
decent  people  of  all  classes  may  be  forced  to  band  themselves 
together  to  crush  the  third  party,  and  out  of  that  union  may 
grow  the  force  which  the  country  needs." 

"  But  how,  in  default  of  a  national  leader,  can  we  do  other- 
wise," asked  Horace,  "  than  work  each  in  one  locality  with  such 
material  as  comes  to  hand  ?  I  know  no  other  way  that  we  can 
bring  reform  on  a  national  scale  except  by  doing  that  which  is 
laid  before  us  and  within  our  reach." 

"And  what" — it  was  Mr.  Holt  who  spoke  now — "what  is 
the  reform  that  you  expect  to  reach  ?  Is  it  the  overthrow  of 
what  some  of  your  friends  call  the  'conspiracy  of  Wall  and 
Lombard  streets?'  Is  proprietorship  theft?  Will  you  redis- 
tribute property  and  all  start  equal  again  ?" 

"No,  not  that,  of  course,"  said  Horace,  smiling,  and  speak- 
ing, as  he  continued,  carefully.  "  It  is  not  so  much  the  reform 
we  hope  to  make  as  the  revolution  we  hope  to  prevent.  There 
is  nothing  wrong  with  any  individual  holding  of  property, 
however  great;  nor  with  all  the  individual  holdings  in  the 
mass — with  what  is  called  the  existence  of  the  moneyed  class. 
The  individual  ownerships  all  over  the  country,  whether  small 
or  great  (except  in  so  far  as  they  may  have  been  acquired  by 
fraud  and  in  violation  of  law),  are  justly  held.  They  were 
either  '  occupied '  by  the  present  owners,  in  virtue  of  their 
superior  moral  force  or  business  talents,  or  they  were  inherited 
from  those  who  had  '  ocoupied '  thorn  legally  before.  The 
titles  are  good  and  in  accordance  with  the  law.     The  law  itself 


OVER   THE    DINNER-TABLE  47 

is  good  and  in  accordance  with  the  eternal  principles  of  right. 
But  through  the  progress  of  generations,  concurrently  with 
the  building  of  the  law,  there  has  crystallized  round  the  mass  of 
individual  ownerships  cohering  together  a  sentiment  which  is 
fundamentally  bad.  I  do  not  know  what  to  call  it,  except  the 
idea  of  ivealth ;  and  this  idea  has  altogether  too  much  influence 
in  the  disposition  of  the  affairs  of  the  nation.  It  is  not  that 
any  individual  millionaire  or  any  corporation  has  too  much  in- 
fluence at  Washington.  It  is  not  even  that  any  group  or  class 
of  individuals  has  too  much  influence.  It  would  be  difficult — 
but  less  difficult  than  invidious — to  go  to  Washington  and  lay 
one's  finger  on  specific  instances;  instances  of  what  in  its  gross- 
est form  is  flat  bribery,  and  in  its  mildest  form  is  the  swaying 
of  the  Chief  Executive  by  considerations  of  family  and  of  con- 
nections in  the  appointment  of  a  justice  of  the  supreme  bench, 
an  appointment  which  in  itself  may  be  admirable.  It  is  not,  as 
I  say,  however,  any  question  of  individuals  or  of  a  class.  If  it 
were,  the  matter  would  soon  remedy  itself  by  the  constant  ac- 
cessions to  and  defections  from  the  moneyed  classes  in  this 
country,  though  I  take  it  that  the  infusion  of  new  blood  in  the 
House  of  Lords  in  England  every  decade  is  scarcely  less  than 
that  into  our  aristocracy  of  wealth  here.  Yet  no  matter  how 
the  component  atoms  of  the  class  shift  or  rearrange  themselves, 
there  is  the  all-pervading  idea  of  nobility  over  there,  with  its 
thousand  ramifications  and  associations  accumulated  through 
the  centuries,  and  there  is  the  idea  of  wealth,  of  more  recent 
growth  but  scarcely  less  all-permeating,  here.  It  may  be  that 
neither  Congress  as  a  mass,  nor  any  individual  Congressman, 
nor  any  officer  of  the  government  will  have  been  consciously 
subjected  to  an  undue  influence  during  a  whole  session.  Every 
man  connected  with  the  affairs  of  state  may  be  guided  by  his 
conscience  only,  and  honestly  believe  himself  to  be  beyond  re- 
proach, yet  at  the  end  of  a  session  this  idea  will  be  found  to 
have  been  all-pervading,  to  have  governed  in  the  distribution 
of  appointments  and  pensions,  in  appropriations  and  charters 
and  tariff  schedules.  It  has  not  been  more  powerful  nor  less 
present  with  one  party  than  another,  or  one  administration 
than  another.  It  rather  accumulates  strength  and  becomes 
more  firmly  seated  with  each  succeeding  government.     And 


48  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

there  lies  the  danger."  He  paused  for  a  moment  before  con- 
cluding. "  It  is  no  change  in  the  law  that  we  need,  it  seems 
to  me;  still  less  any  disturbance  of  existing  rights  and  inter- 
ests. It  is  a  sweetening  of  our  national  sentiment,  a  depolariz- 
ing of  our  ideas.  And  I  know  not  how  that  is  to  he  reached 
except  through  the  medium  of  a  new  party  and  new  men. 
And  it  must  be  reached  somehow,  or  the  outlook  is  terrible. 
There  will  be  revolution." 

The  young  lawyer  had  been  listened  to  with  attention  ;  but 
though  he  directed  his  remarks  chiefly  towards  Mr.  Holt,  he 
was  conscious  of  only  one  auditor,  and  of  her  he  was  acutely 
conscious.  For  her  part,  Miss  Holt  had  been  absorbed  in  what 
he  was  saying,  and  had  paused  with  her  fork  half-uplifted  in 
her  hand,  and  the  same  expression  on  her  face  as  had  been  there 
two  days  before,  when  Marsh  had  talked  of  his  ambitions  to 
her  alone.     When  he  ceased  Judge  Jessel  spoke. 

"  I  confess  again  that  I  go  a  long  way  with  Mr,  Marsh.  There 
is  danger,  and  there  is  need  of  sweetening — '  oh,  for  some  civet !' 
— and  it  is  difficult  to  see  how  either  of  the  great  parties  is  to  be 
the  purifying  instrument.  One  yields  the  reins  to  the  other, 
and  the  taint  is  equally  in  both.  If  both  together — that  small 
circle  of  both  parties  which  really  guides  the  nation — were  to 
step  aside,  there  is  nobody  yet  for  them  to  hand  the  adminis- 
tration to — nobody  but  the  mob,  which  is  far  more  reckless  and 
impure  than  either.  It  is  the  great  neutral  mass  of  right-think- 
ing American  citizens  who  need  to  be  aroused  and  to  act  unit- 
edly." 

"Which,"  said  Major  Bartop,  "I  take  it,  is  flat  mugwump- 
ery." 

"And  which  is  why,"  Marsh  interjected,  laughingly,  "I 
appeal  to  Major  Bartop  to  come  back  and  lead  us." 

Major  Bartop  remained  silent.  Mr.  Holt  brought  the  subject 
back  to  lower  and  more  commonplace  grounds  by  saying : 

"  The  trouble  with  the  third  party  in  this  locality  is  that  it 
shows  no  inclination  to  seek  new  leaders  or  to  be  held  to  any 
principles  at  all.  It  has  simply  been  an  accession  to  the  ranks 
of  the  Democracy  in  exchange  for  a  forfeiture  of  much  of  its 
respectability.  So  far  as  the  guidance  and  mechanism  of  poli- 
tics go,  they  are  in  the  hands  of  the  usual  municipal  ring  of 


OVER    THE    DINNER-TABLE  49 

worthless  '  ward  heelers ' — an  Irishman  to  poll  the  Irish  vote, 
and  a  German  for  the  German  vote,  and  a  Scandinavian  for  the 
Scandinavian  vote,  and  their  Irish  and  German  and  Scandina- 
vian friends.  And  just  now  it  seems  as  if  the  labor  tail  was 
wagging  the  whole  aggregation." 

" By-the-bye,"  said  the  judge,  "there  is  a  labor  meeting  to- 
night, is  there  not,  in  which  you  are  somewhat  interested?" 

"Yes,"  Mr.  Holt  replied,  "at  the  new  Labor  Temple." 

"  Oh,"  remarked  Judge  Jessel,  "  the  Labor  Temple  is  com- 
pleted, is  it  ?  They  were  struggling  with  it  when  I  went  away. 
Didn't  you  tell  me  that  you  helped  them  out?" 

"A  little,"  said  Mr.  Holt,  drily.  "I  gave  them  a  thousand 
dollars  in  behalf  of  the  street-railway  company,  and  another 
thousand  in  behalf  of  the  iron-and-steel  company.  Then  when 
they  were  in  difficulties  about  getting  the  roof  on  the  building, 
I  gave  my  personal  check  for  five  hundred  more." 

"  H'm  !  and  the  first  use  they  put  it  to  is  to  holding  a  meet- 
ing for  the  purpose  of  striking  against  you  and  the  mill  com- 
pany and  the  street- railway  company  together.  Verily  the 
4  whirligig  of  time'  does  '  bring  in  its  revenges.'  " 

"  I  think  the  Labor  Temple  is  so  good,  architecturally,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Flail,  with  the  feminine  preference  for  form  over 
matter.  The  best  of  women,  in  keeping  her  household  ac- 
counts, is  more  interested  in  the  neatness  of  her  book-keeping 
than  in  economy  in  results.  A  blot  of  ink  on  one  of  the 
columns  is  a  calamity  far  outweighing  a  failure  to  find  a 
balance. 

"Don't  you  like  it  ?"  she  said,  addressing  Mr.  Tisserton. 
"  I  think  it  is  so  symbolical." 

"  Symbolical  of  what  ?"  asked  that  gentleman. 

"  Oh,  of  the  idea,  you  know,"  said  the  lady,  somewhat 
vaguely.  "  It  is  a  compromise  between  severity  and  vulgarity 
— an  engrafting  upon  classical  models  of  the  modern  utilita- 
rian ideas.  It  is  what  it  is  meant  to  be — a  temple,  but  a  temple 
to  the  nineteenth  century  working-man.  I  took  a  good  deal  of 
interest  in  it  when  the  movement  was  started." 

Jack  Tisserton  felt  that  this  conversation  was  beyond  his 
depth.  As  he  said  himself,  he  "  left  all  that  kind  of  thing  to 
his  wife."     He  took  refuge  in  appealing  to  Mr,  Holt. 


50  MEN    BOKN    EQUAL 

"  What  is  the  particular  trouble  with  the  men  now  ?"  he 
asked. 

"  The  old  trouble,"  the  host  replied ;  "  the  same  trouble  as 
is  being  felt  all  over  the  country.  The  absolute  inability  on 
the  part  of  manufacturing  or  industrial  enterprises  either  to 
earn  or  to  borrow  money  to  cover  their  expenses,  and  a 
simultaneous  determination  on  the  part  of  the  men  to  be 
paid  money,  whether  we  can  get  it  or  not.  I  wish  they 
would  tell  us  how  to  get  the  money.  We  will  do  it  gladly 
enough." 

"  It  seems  so  hard,"  said  Miss  Holt,  wistfully,  in  the  silence 
which  followed.  "These  men  must  know  that  papa  would  do 
anything  in  the  world  for  them  individually — in  fact,  we  do  a 
good  deal  for  their  wives  and  children  when  they  are  sick,  and 
so  on.  We  are  not  monsters.  Yet  now  they  simply  won't 
believe  what  papa  tells  them.  What  can  we  do  ?"  she  asked, 
despairingly.  As  she  looked  round  the  table  for  an  answer  her 
eye  fell  upon  the  Englishman,  who  felt  himself  in  some  way 
compelled  to  reply. 

"  You  cannot  do  a  thing,"  said  he,  "  except  fight  them. 
They'll  learn  in  time.  You  are  going  through  the  same  thing 
here  as  we  have  had  to  meet  in  England,  you  know." 

There  appeared  here  to  Mrs.  Flail  an  opportunity  to  obtain 
instruction.  Assuming  the  air  of  a  counsel  cross-questioning  a 
not  too  notoriously  trustworthy  witness,  she  said  : 

"  What  is  your  impression,  Mr.  Pryce,  of  our  social  system 
in  America  ?     Do  you  like  the  equality  of  the  classes  ?" 

Mr.  Price  smiled  languidly. 

"  Whenever  I  am  asked  that  question,"  he  said,  "  I  always 
quote  a  friend  of  mine — a  young  Englishman  with  whom  I  first 
came  over.  We  had  been  in  New  York  about  a  week,  I  fancy, 
when  an  American,  with  whom  we  had  got  into  accidental 
conversation  at  the  hotel,  began  to  ask  us  a  whole  lot  of  ques- 
tions, you  know,  and  finally  he  asked  us  what  you  did  just 
now — what  we  thought  of  the  equality  of  the  classes.  '  Oh, 
I  don't  know,'  replied  Birchall  (that's  my  friend,  you  know), 
'  I  don't  mind  the  equality  of  the  classes.'  He  was  thinking 
of  the  chaps  on  the  elevated  railroads,  and  the  waiters  and 
janitors  and  elevator  boys,  and  all  those  sort  of  people,  you 


OVER    THE    DIXXER-TABLE  51 

understand.  '  I  don't  mind  their  equality,'  he  said,  '  but  what 
I  do  hate  is  their  damned  superiority!'  " 

The  general  laugh  which  followed,  Mrs.  Flail  felt  to  be  in 
some  measure  at  her  expense,  and  she  hastened  to  cover  her  dis- 
comfiture by  asking-  another  question. 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  our  country  as  a  whole,  Mr. 
Pryce?" 

The  tone  in  which  this  question  was  put  said  plainly 
enough,  "  Answer  me  that,  if  you  can,"  and  the  fixity  of  gaze 
with  which  she  held  her  victim  while  awaiting  his  response 
conveyed  an  evident  intimation  that  he  was  expected  to  equiv- 
ocate and  have  recourse  to  subterfuge,  but  that  no  shuffling 
would  be  permitted.  The  Englishman,  however,  was  equal  to 
the  emergency. 

"  I  don't  think  of  it,"  he  said ;  "  it  is  altogether  too  big. 
No  one  mind  can  think  of  the  whole  of  it  at  once.  If  you 
divided  up  the  task,  you  know — let  the  contract  by  sections, 
as  it  were — to  some  six  or  seven  minds  at  once,  they  might 
be  able  to  evolve  a  simultaneous  thought  on  the  whole  country. 
One  mind  can't  do  it." 

Miss  Holt  thought  it  well  to  interrupt  the  cross-examination, 
and  having  caught  Mrs.  Jessel's  eye  and  received  a  sympathetic 
nod  from  that  good  lady,  signifying  that  she  was  ready,  the 
hostess  rose  and,  followed  by  the  other  women,  left  the  room. 
The  men  soon  followed,  and  found  Mrs.  Flail  entertaining — or, 
at  least,  occupying  the  attention  of — the  company  with  a  de- 
scription of  a  new  violinist  who  had  that  day  arrived  in  town, 
and  was  to  perform  in  concert  on  the  following  evening.  As 
the  men  entered  they  caught  Miss  Caley's  voice  interrupting 
the  elder  woman's  narrative  with  the  question : 

"  What  colored  eyes  has  he  ?" 

"  My  dear  child,  don't  ask  me,"  said  Mrs.  Flail.  In  which 
response  she  showed  very  clearly  how  widely  she  differed  from 
the  majority  of  her  sex  ;  for  whereas  a  man,  in  describing 
another,  will  sum  him  up  in  general  terms  by  saying  that  he  is 
tall  or  short,  dark  or  light,  and  "  a  pretty  good-looking  fellow," 
a  "rather  colorless,  unprepossessing  kind  of  a  chap" — or  some 
such  characterization,  looking  rather  to  the  quality  of  the  man 
than  the  details  of  his  physiognomy — a  woman,  in  similar  case, 


52  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

will  give  "  the  inventory  of  Lis  features,"  with  the  color  of  his 
eyes,  the  shape  of  his  nose,  the  nature  of  his  mustache,  and 
(especially)  the  quality  of  his  teeth.  And  what  man  ever 
thought  it  worth  mentioning  that  another  had  good  teeth  ? 

During  the  evening  Miss  Caley  played  on  the  piano,  first  a 
sonata  of  Beethoven  and  then  the  inevitable  bit  of  Grieg.  The 
Englishman  also  obliged  the  company  with  the  "Arab's  Love 
Song  "  and  "  London  Bridge,"  which  he  sang  with  a  rich  bary- 
tone voice,  which,  his  friends  said,  "  was  worth  the  other  six 
feet  of  him." 

Horace,  after  much  manoeuvring,  had  succeeded  in  placing 
himself  on  a  sofa  by  Jessie's  side. 

"  I  like  to  hear  you  talk  as  you  did  to-night,"  she  said, 
frankly,  as  soon  as  he  was  seated,  "  and  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
wasn't  wrong  the  other  day  when  I  told  you  to  emulate  Major 
Bartop  and  hold  aloof.  It  may  be  better  to  work  earnestly, 
even  if  your  friends  think  you  are  mistaken,  than  to  sit  still 
because  the  work  isn't  all  that  you  might  wish." 

Horace  could  have  grovelled  upon  the  Turkish  rug  and 
kissed  her  feet  for  this.  Under  more  favorable  circumstances 
it  is  difficult  to  say  to  what  length  his  adoration  might  not 
have  carried  him  that  evening;  but,  as  hostess,  Miss  Holt  was 
compelled  to  give  more  than  half  her  attention  to  the  other 
members  of  the  party,  rising  to  thank  one  of  the  performers 
or  to  plead  with  another,  and  to  execute  those  innumerable  lit- 
tle offices  which  are  incumbent  on  a  hostess  if  an  evening  is 
to  "  go  right."  But  Horace  was  blissfully  happy.  He  barely 
refrained  from  telling  her  incoherently  in  words,  and  he  did 
all  he  could  to  tell  her  with  his  eyes  and  the  pressure  of  her 
hand  at  parting.  When  he  left  the  house  he  sprang  down  the 
steps  at  one  stride,  and  could  have  shrieked  aloud  to  the  night 
air  in  very  joyousness. 

When  the  last  guest  had  left,  Mr.  Holt  hastened  to  the  li- 
brary, where  the  butler  had  told  him  that  James  Darron,  the 
manager  of  the  steel  company,  was  already  awaiting  him,  to- 
gether with  Superintendent  Boon  of  the  street  railway. 

"  Well  ?"  asked  Mr.  Holt,  as  he  entered  the  room. 

"  WTell,"  said  Darron,  "  they  decided  to  wait  for  a  while." 


OVER    THE    DINNER-TABLE  53 

An  evident  look  of  relief  came  into  Mr.  Holt's  face  as  he 
seated  himself  at  the  table,  motioning  the  others  to  do  the 
same. 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  he  said. 

"  There  was  a  big  meeting,"  Darron  began,  "  and  it  all  went 
one  way.  There  was  the  usual  talk,  and  the  more  extrava- 
gant the  speakers  were  the  more  they  were  applauded.  Some 
of  them  were  pretty  bitter — especially  Wollmer  and  Hender- 
son and  Riley  and  Craft.  Up  to  the  last  minute  it  looked  as 
if  there  could  be  only  one  conclusion — they  would  all  go  out 
at  noon  to-morrow.  Suddenly  Wollmer  came  forward  and 
said  that  General  Harter,  the  candidate  for  Governor  of  the 
State  on  the  Democratic  ticket,  was  present,  and  would  like  to 
speak.  Wollmer  asked  them  to  give  full  weight  to  what  the 
General  said.  Harter  then  came  out  (he  was  enthusiastically 
applauded)  and  spoke  in  his  usual  pompous  way.  But  it  was 
a  mighty  good  talk.  He  counselled  them  to  moderation,  and 
implored  them  not,  by  any  hasty  action,  to  bring  distress  to 
the  city  or  discredit  to  the  fair  name  of  the  dear  State,  to  the 
highest  office  in  which  he  had  the  honor  now  to  be  an  aspirant. 
You  ought  to  have  heard  them  cheer  !  He  asked  them  to  wait. 
Appealed  to  them  not  to  dedicate  the  new  and  glorious  edifice 
in  which  they  were  assembled  by  any  headlong  action  which 
they  might  regret.  He  offered  his  services  as  arbitrator — either 
alone  or  in  company  with  the  mayor  of  the  city  and  the  Re- 
publican candidate  for  Governor.  'Anyway/  he  said, '  wait  until 
you  have  exhausted  every  resource,  when  the  crime  of  what 
may  follow  will  be  on  the  heads  of  those  who  refuse  to  meet 
vou.'  When  he  got  through,  as  soon  as  he  could  be  heard 
through  the  applause,  Wollmer  besought  the  meeting  to  take 
the  advice  of  the  honored  statesman  who  had  just  sat  down. 
He  said  Harter  was  right,  and  they  had  better  wait.  There 
was  some  more  talk,  and  then  a  joint  committee  was  appointed 
to  confer  with  the  management  of  the  two  companies  and  re- 
port at  another  meeting  to  be  called  by  the  committee  when 
it  saw  fit." 

Mr.  Holt  made  no  comment  on  this  narrative. 

"  I  think,"  said  Boon,  "  that  it  was  a  put-up  job  from  first 
to  last." 


54  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

"  Of  course  it  was,"  said  Mr.  Holt — "  of  course  it  was.  And 
a  clever  job,  too." 

As  he  said  good-bye  to  the  two  men  at  his  front  door  a  few 
minutes  later  he  murmured  to  himself  again,  "  A  very  clever 
piece  of  work — confoundedly  clever  !" 


BEHIND    THE    SCENES 

It  was  clever.  That  was  evident  from  the  tone  of  the  local 
press  on  the  following  day. 

Horace,  stopping  at  the  club  on  his  way  home  from  the 
dinner,  had  heard  there  the  result  of  the  meeting,  in  much 
the  same  words  as  it  had  been  given  to  Mr.  Holt  in  the  li- 
brary, and  in  his  condition  of  semi-intoxication  it  had  been 
another  cause  of  rejoicing.  At  breakfast  the  next  morning 
he  read  the  account  of  the  affair  in  the  newspapers  with  ea- 
gerness. 

First  he  looked  at  the  organ  of  the  local  Democracy,  the 
World.  The  account  of  the  meeting,  several  columns  long, 
was  headed  in  the  approved  alliterative  journalistic  style  of 
the  day :  "  Hearkened  to  Harter ! — The  Democratic  Champion 
Saves  the  City  ! — He  Pours  the  Oil  of  Reason  on  Labor's 
Troubled  Tide  '.—The  Strike  Postponed,  as  Violence  Hides 
Its  Head  before  His  Cogent  Counselling !" 

On  the  editorial  page  the  same  journal  devoted  a  column, 
in  all  the  dignity  of  "  double  leads  "  and  much  confusion  of 
metaphor,  to  the  praise  of  the  "  gallant  General."  "  Seldom, 
or  never,  perhaps,"  so  it  was  asserted,  "  had  it  fallen  to  the 
lot  of  any  man  in  public  life  at  one  single  stroke  of  states- 
manship to  render  so  signal  service  to  his  party,  the  people, 
and  his  State.  At  the  last  moment,  when  all  seemed  lost, 
and  when  the  ardent  but  not  unjustifiable  language  of  their 
proper  leaders  had  already  swayed  the  seething  meeting  to 
the  point  where  all  stood  waiting  only  to  cast  the  last  irrev- 
ocable lot ;  when  it  seemed  that  no  human  voice  could  stay 
the  tide  of  indignation  and  of  wrath — at  this  moment  there 
leaped  Curtius-like  into  the  gulf  our  honored  candidate  for 


56  MEN   BOEN    EQUAL 

Governor  of  this  noble  State,  and  by  one  act  of  self-devotion 
he  saved  the  city  from  the  red  peril  which  threatened  it. 
Never  before  has  the  gallant  General  shown  so  conspicuously 
his  courage,  his  statesmanship,  and  his  power  over  the  peo- 
ple, who  are  determined  to  have  no  other  man  for  their  next 
Governor." 

Even  the  papers  of  the  opposition  were  compelled  to  give 
the  Democratic  candidate  some  credit  for  his  action.  They 
did  it  sneeringly,  however.  The  Republican  spoke  of  the 
scene  as  "  dramatic  in  the  extreme ;  perhaps  too  dramatic  to 
have  been  given  unrehearsed."  The  opportunity  to  do  the 
right  thing  was  so  obvious  that  little  credit  could  be  claimed 
for  having  seized  it.  It  would  have  been  a  disgrace  to  any 
man  not  to  have  done  so.  "  Those  who  understand  'General ' 
Harter  have  long  ceased  to  be  surprised  at,  however  much 
they  may  regret,  the  air  of  trickery  and  charlatanism  with 
which  he  succeeds  in  investing  his  every  public  act." 

On  the  whole,  the  episode  had  been  a  distinct  triumph  of 
Democracy,  and  still  more  a  personal  triumph  of  the  senior 
member  of  the  firm  of  Harter  &  Marsh.  So  it  was  in  the 
best  of  spirits  that  Horace  took  his  way  to  the  office,  his 
light-heartedness  finding  vent  en  route  in  the  purchase  of 
three  dozen  roses,  which  he  ordered  to  be  sent  to  Miss  Holt. 
He  nodded  gleefully  to  such  acquaintances  as  he  met  on  the 
street,  and  all  the  way  to  the  Metropolitan  Block  (where  his 
office  was  situated),  and  even  going  up  in  the  elevator  he  was 
humming  to  music  of  his  own  making  the  lines: 

" '  For  each  red  rose  the  secret  deep 

In  its  sad,  happy  heart  encloses 
Of  kisses,  making  love's  heart  leap ; 

And  every  summer  wind  that  blows  is 
A  prayer  that  maidens  be  less  coy 

Of  kisses  ere  brief  life  be  sped. 
Heaven  taught  the  earth  a  fair  employ 

When  Venus  kissed  white  roses  red.'  " 

When  he  arrived  he  found  that  his  partner  had  been  at  the 
office  early,  and  was  already  receiving  visitors  and  congratula- 
tions. The  first  caller  of  the  day  had  been  Sullivan,  the  big- 
Irish  politician.     He  strode  into  the  General's  inner  office  un- 


BEHIND    THE    SCENES  57 

announced,  and  slapped  his  hat  and  cane  down  noisily  on 
the  baize  -  covered  table.  Then  thrusting  his  hands  into 
his  pockets  and  standing  with  legs  wide  apart,  he  shook  his 
head  admiringly  at  the  General,  who  smilingly  awaited  a 
greeting. 

"  Oh,  it  was  slick  !"  broke  out  the  Irishman,  at  last — "  it 
was  dom  slick !  It  was  just  a  Napoleonic  stroke  of  genius, 
that's  what  it  was  !  I  had  me  doubts,  when  we  wer'  talkin' 
it  over  in  the  office  here,  whether  the  thing  could  be  done. 
But  done  it  was — done  to  the  queen's  taste,  bad  cess  to  her  ! 
Tim  Sullivan  was  wrong  for  once — and  oh,  it  was  slick  !  Holy 
Moses,  it  was  slick  !  Have  ye  seen  the  papers  f  he  asked, 
banging  his  huge  hand  down  on  the  table. 

The  General  had.  In  fact  (though  this  did  not  appear),  he 
had  read  the  proof  of  what  the  World  was  to  say  on  the  sub- 
ject the  night  before.  He  accepted  the  Irishman's  enthusi- 
asm now  with  becoming  modesty.  Presently  Wollmer  en- 
tered— a  very  different  entry  to  that  which  the  Irishman  had 
made.  He  came  in  noiselessly,  almost  stealthily,  but  the  ole- 
aginous smile  of  satisfaction  on  his  features  was  scarcely  less 
expressive  than  the  other's  boisterous  hilarity. 

"  And  now  here's  the  pair  of  ye,"  said  the  Irishman,  as  he 
looked  them  over  from  head  to  foot.  "Oh,  but  it's  two  Mach- 
iavelis  ye  are  !  Csesar  and  Pompey  and  Pompey  and  Caesar — 
an'  ye  could  have  given  the  both  of  them  points !  There 
was  never  a  mother's  son  of  a  Greek  of  them  all  could  have 
held  a  candle  to  ye  !" 

Timothy  Sullivan  was  never  notoriously  accurate  in  his 
classical  or  literary  allusions.  The  opposition  papers  seldom 
failed  to  recur  when  possible  to  a  meeting  some  years  before, 
at  which  the  Irishman  had  referred  to  German  as  one  of  the 
"  dead  languages,"  and  it  was  he  of  whom  the  story  was  told 
that,  after  a  certain  election  in  which  his  party  had  been  de- 
feated chiefly,  as  it  was  understood,  by  the  Scandinavian 
vote,  he  had  expressed  a  fervent  wish  that  "every  dom  Swede 
of  them  was  back  in  Switzerland." 

When  Marsh  arrived  there  were  already  some  half  a  dozen 
of  the  leaders  of  the  local  Democracy  assembled  in  the  room, 
and  among  them  pranced   Sullivan  in  ecstasy,  calling  upon 


58  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

each  new-comer  to  witness  to  "the  slickness  of  it."  In  the 
presence  of  the  later  arrivals,  however,  a  critical  observer 
might  have  noticed  that  no  further  reference  was  made  to  the 
coup  having  been  prepared  in  advance.  With  all  his  appar- 
ent impulsiveness  the  Irishman  never  made  mistakes  of  that 
kind.  Marsh  was  barely  inside  the  door  before  he  was  seized 
by  the  lapel  of  his  coat  and  led  up  to  where  the  General 
was  standing. 

"Let  me  introjuce  ye,"  said  the  Irishman,  "to  Mr.  Aris- 
tides  Gambetta  Cavour,  yer  partner  in  business,  ye  lucky  spal- 
peen, who  is  otherwise  known  as  the  Moses  and  Aaron  com- 
bined, or  the  Siamese  Savior  of  the  Dimicratic  party." 

While  Horace  was  congratulating  his  partner  the  Irishman 
put  on  his  hat. 

"  I'll  be  back  after  a  while,"  he  said  to  the  party,  "  but 
meantime  I'm  thinkin'  that  there  are  some  boys  as  '11  be  want- 
in'  drinks,  and  there  is  never  a  Dimicrat  in  all  the  Fourth 
Ward — man,  woman,  or  child  in  arms — that  can  ask  a  drink 
of  Tim  Sullivan  this  day  and  be  refused.  This  is  no  day  for 
a  man  who  votes  the  ticket  to  go  dry  !  'Twould  be  a  shame 
to  the  party,  it  would ;  a  dirty  shame." 

An  hour  or  so  later,  as  Marsh  was  sitting  in  his  office, 
Charlie  Harrington  walked  in.  He  had  come  down-town — 
an  unusual  thing  for  him  in  the  forenoon — to  assist  at  the 
departure  of  his  fiancee's  sister  for  Indiana. 

"  Is  that  the  sister  you  said  you  had  seen  with  Blakely  ?" 
asked  Marsh. 

"  The  same ;  Jennie  only  has  one  sister." 

"  Well,  it  may  not  do  her  any  harm  to  be  away  from  him. 
You  told  me  that  she  was  engaged  to  somebody,  didn't 
you  ?" 

"  We  don't  know  whether  they  are  engaged  or  not.  They 
act  like  it — anyway,  Tom  does,"  Harrington  said.  "  We  have 
our  hopes,  Jennie  and  I,  that  the  wedding  in  January  may  be 
a  double  event.  Nothing  definite  has  been  said  on  behalf  of 
the  other  couple,  however.  It  will  be  pretty  hard  on  the  old 
lady,"  he  added,  thoughtfully,  "if  both  the  girls  leave  to- 
gether." 

Presently  the  conversation  drifted  to  the  meeting  of  the 


BEHIND   THE    SCENES  59 

night  before.  Harrington  did  not  appear  to  be  much  im- 
pressed with  the  behavior  of  the  gallant  General,  a  fact  which 
Marsh  set  down  chiefly  to  his  friend's  Republicanism. 

"  It  was  a  cheap  trick  at  best,"  said  Harrington,  "  and  if 
the  men  weren't  fools  they  would  have  seen  it.  To  be  led 
by  the  nose  and  played  upon  and  worked  up  to  excitement, 
and  then — presto  !  Wollmer  pulls  a  string,  and  they  are  all 
put  to  bed  again  and  tucked  in,  like  good  little  children.  I 
don't  want  a  strike,  but  I  almost  wish  that  some  hot-headed 
man  had  got  up  and  told  the  meeting  how  it  was  being  fooled, 
and  spoiled  the  game." 

''Why,  do  you  think  it  had  been  planned  in  advance?" 
asked  Marsh,  with  a  remembrance  of  the  hints  of  the  Repub- 
lican paper. 

"  Of  course  it  had,"  said  the  other. 

41 1  think  not,"  Marsh  replied,  quietly.  "  I  have  not  asked 
the  General,  but  I  think  not." 

Harrington  made  no  reply,  but  after  a  short  silence  he 
said : 

"  I  should  think  you  would  be  afraid  of  being  drawn  too 
far  into  this  labor  business.  Of  course,  you  know  what  you 
are  about ;  but  don't  you  find  Wollmer  and  his  crowd  a  lit- 
tle difficult  to  stomach  as  collaborators  ?" 

"  They  are  not  my  collaborators,"  said  Marsh,  with  some 
warmth.  "  We  mark  out  the  policy  of  the  party,  and  if  Woll- 
mer or  any  one  else  chooses  to  follow  us  he  can.  Of  course, 
the  more  who  follow  the  better.  But  they  must  follow  on 
our  terms,  and  if  the  labor  element  or  any  one  else  think  they 
can  dictate  to  us,  they  will  find  themselves  mistaken." 

"To  a  man  up  a  tree,"  said  Harrington,  "it  looks  a  good 
deal  as  if  the  labor  element  was  dictating  now.  I  wonder  if 
you  know,  Horace,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  "  what  a  thor- 
oughly brutal  set  these  labor  leaders  are." 

"  In  what  way  brutal  ?" 

"  Well,  I  was  only  in  contact  with  it  for  a  couple  of  years," 
Harrington  said,  "  and  it  did  not  matter  with  me.  I  did  not 
go  into  the  railroad  service  to  make  that  my  career,  and  so 
far  as  I  was  concerned  it  was  only  a  certain  amount  of  dis- 
comfort for  those  two  years,  and  a  constant  necessity  to  look 


60  MEN   BOEN    EQUAL 

out  for  myself.  To  be  sure,"  he  added,  "  it  has  followed  me 
here,  as  I  was  telling  you  the  other  day,  and  I  still  have  to 
be  pretty  careful  lest  an  accident  should  happen.  But  with 
young  fellows  who  go  into  railroading  for  their  life's  work  it 
is  different,  and  it  is  not  as  bad  in  the  shops  as  it  is  in  some 
other  departments.  It  used  to  be  the  case  that  any  clean, 
industrious,  and  reasonably  intelligent  young  fellow  who 
went  into  railroading  at  the  bottom  and  attended  to  his  busi- 
ness was  sure  of  promotion.  A  pretty  large  percentage  of 
the  presidents  and  general  managers  to-day  worked  up  that 
way.  But  the  brotherhoods  have  changed  all  that.  A  young 
fellow  goes  in  now  full  of  ambition  and  determined  to  carve 
out  his  own  salvation.  He  has  not  been  in  the  service  long 
before  the  brotherhood  is  after  him,  and  he  has  to  make  his 
choice  between  an  honorable  career  and  loyalty  to  his  company 
or  submission  to  the  brotherhood.  If  he  chooses  the  latter, 
there  is  an  end.  He  can  rise  so  high,  but  he  will  never  be  fit 
to  become  an  official.  If  he  is  a  self-respecting  fellow  with 
nerve  he  will  choose  the  other  course,  and  then  the  trouble 
begins.  It  is  not  long  before  he  finds  that  he  is  unpopular 
with  the  other  men.  His  work  is  made  just  as  hard  for  him 
as  it  can  be,  and  life  gets  pretty  near  being  a  burden.  If  he 
holds  out,  there  are  lots  of  ways  of  discrediting  him.  An  ac- 
cident happens,  and  he  is  to  blame.  He  knows  better,  but 
there  are  plenty  of  witnesses  against  him,  and  the  management 
has  no  choice  but  to  let  him  out.  And  when  a  man  is  once 
let  out  in  that  way  he  can  hunt  for  another  job  at  railroading 
until  he  dies  in  the  poor-house.  He  has  to  choose  another 
career  if  he  wants  to  make  a  living.  If  that  does  not  work, 
it  is  not  difficult  to  get  a  man  killed  or  maimed  for  life  in  the 
train  and  yard  service.  Again  there  will  be  no  lack  of  wit- 
nesses to  prove  that  it  was  his  own  fault.  If  somebody  else 
is  shown  to  be  partly  to  blame,  the  only  difference  is  that  the 
railway  company  has  to  pay  damages,  and  then  the  brother- 
hood has  the  laugh  on  the  two  enemies  at  once — the  man 
whom  they  killed  or  crippled,  and  the  company  as  well.  I 
tell  you,"  he  added,  bitterly,  "  it  is  just  as  impossible  for  a 
clean,  self-respecting,  honest  young  fellow  nowadays  to  go 
?nto  railroading,  beginning  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder  and 


BEHIND    THE    SCENES  61 

working  up  to  the  top,  as  they  used  to  do  fifteen  or  twenty 
years  ago,  as  it  is  for  him  to  walk  across  the  Atlantic !  Even 
in  my  own  short  time  in  the  shops  I  saw  something,  and  heard 
a  good  deal  more." 

"  You  know  more  about  these  things,  probably,  than  I  do," 
said  Marsh.  "  But  if  what  you  say  is  true,  that  only  makes 
one  more  abuse  that  we  have  to  reform." 

"  And  you  can't  be  too  quick  about  it,"  replied  the  other. 
"  But  the  way  things  are  going  now  it  looks  to  an  outsider 
more  as  if  labor  was  going  to  run  the  party  than  as  if  the 
party  was  going  to  reform  labor.  However,"  and  he  got  up 
from  his  chair,  "  I  didn't  come  in  to  talk  politics  or  to  argue 
— only  to  shake  hands  and  see  how  you  were." 

Marsh  rose  also,  and  the  two  stood  chatting  laughingly  for 
a  few  minutes  on  the  old  footing  of  boyish  good-fellowship 
before  Harrington  went  away. 

Left  to  himself,  Horace  felt  the  first  serious  misgivings  as 
to  his  political  career  which  had  beset  him  since  he  threw 
himself  into  public  life.  His  ideals  were  unshaken.  The 
belief  in  the  country's  needs,  the  conviction  as  to  where  his 
own  duty  lay,  the  visions  which  he  had  of  the  nation's  future 
— these  were  beyond  the  reach  of  doubt.  But  these  men 
with  whom  he  was  working,  whom  he  believed  to  be  informed 
with  the  same  inspiration  as  himself,  was  it  possible  that  they 
were  other  than  he  had  supposed  ?  He  had  indignantly  repu- 
diated the  idea  that  Wollmer  was  his  collaborator.  But  the 
General  ?  Could  he  have  stooped  to  so  tawdry  a  trick  on  the 
preceding  night  as  Harrington  had  implied  ?  He  shrank,  too, 
as  he  remembered  those  words  he  had  overheard  three  days 
before  :  "  Mighty  near  to  the  State's  Prison,"  the  Irishman 
had  said.  "  Charge  it  up  to  street  cleaning  or  to  the  police." 
And  Marsh  seemed  to  hear  again  the  echo  of  the  accents  in 
which  Wollmer  had  spoken.  The  General  had  not  taken 
part  in  the  conversation  ;  but  he  was  there  in  the  room  un- 
doubtedly, a  party  to  all  that  was  going  on.  Bah !  it  could 
not  be.  It  was  something  else  they  were  talking  of,  some- 
thing in  itself  harmless.  He  would  not  believe  it  otherwise. 
He  would  ask  the  General  frankly  for  himself,  and  knew  that 
it  would  be  explained.     And   he  thrust  the  thoughts  from 


62  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

him,  and  plunged  into  the  work  which  lay  before  him  on  his 
desk. 

It  was  well — or  was  it  ill  ? — that  Horace  could  not  hear  an- 
other conversation  which  went  on  shortly  afterwards  in  the 
same  adjoining  room.  The  participants,  as  before,  were  the 
General,  Wollmer,  and  the  Irishman. 

The  last  named  had  returned  from  his  errand  of  mercy, 
which  had  evidently  not  been  in  vain. 

"  Holy  Moses !"  he  exclaimed  as  he  came  into  the  room, 
using  his  favorite  form  of  invocation ;  "  but  it's  nothing 
more  than  one  colossal  sponge,  is  the  City  Hall.  The  whole 
gang  has  its  mouth  wide  open,  like  so  many  birdies  all  agape 
in  their  nest  waiting  for  their  mother.  Ye  might  parade  the 
entire  street-sprinkling  force  of  the  city  round  the  hall  till 
sundown,  every  cart  of  them  squirting  whiskey,  and  ye  would 
be  no  nearer  the  bottom  of  their  appetites  than  when  ye 
started.  Talk  of  the  thirst  of  the  Sahara  and  India's  coral 
strand  !  Why,  it's  milk  and  honey  beside  the  capacity  of  this 
self-same  Dimocracy  when  treats  are  free  !"  And  he  wiped 
his  broad  face  with  a  large  handkerchief,  perspiring  at  the 
very  thought  of  the  scenes  that  he  had  been  through.  He 
himself  had  doubtless  taken  his  share  of  the  refreshments  in 
honor  of  the  previous  evening's  triumph,  but  whiskey  had 
little  effect  on  his  huge  frame.  His  voice,  perhaps,  was  a 
trifle  louder,  and  his  movements  somewhat  more  emphatic 
than  usual,  but  where  there  was  so  much  volume  and  empha- 
sis already  a  little  additional  of  either  made  no  material  dif- 
ference. 

The  triumvirate  had  been  in  consultation  for  perhaps  an 
hour,  and  apparently  things  did  not  go  smoothly.  The  General 
sat  with  his  chair  tilted  back,  a  look  of  annoyance  on  his  face, 
and  drummed  nervously  on  the  table  with  his  fingers.  The 
Irishman's  hands  were  thrust  nearly  to  the  elbows  into  his 
capacious  pockets,  and  beneath  his  hat,  balanced  on  the  very 
back  of  his  head,  his  face  was  flushed  and  thunderous.  Woll- 
mer leaned  serenely  on  the  table,  making  figures  with  a  stubby 
pencil  on  a  sheet  of  paper. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  the  General,    "  that  two  months 


BEHIND    THE    SCENES  63 

before  election  is  too  soon.  It  will  be  difficult  to  keep  them 
quiet  so  long,  and  if  there  is  serious  disturbance  it  may  do 
more  harm  than  good.  The  public  sympathy  is  always  with 
the  strikers  at  first,  but  violence  soon  wears  out  the  public's 
patience." 

"  An'  if  the  cost  is  to  be  anywheres  near  what  you  say," 
said  the  Irishman,  addressing  Wollmer,  "  there  isn't  a  city  in 
America,  barrin'  the  New  Jerusalem  with  its  golden  streets, 
whose  treasury  could  stand  it.  Eight  weeks  of  such  pipin' 
as  that — it  would  beggar  the  Rothschilds  themselves  to  pay 
the  bill.     Four  hundred  thousand  !     Holy  Moses  !" 

"  I  see  no  alternative,"  said  the  General ;  "  you  must  man- 
age somehow  to  hold  them  for  a  while  vet." 

"  I  have  held  them  pretty  well,"  snarled  Wollmer,  "  al- 
ready. I  worked  it  last  night  for  you.  But  let  the  men 
once  get  an  idea  that  I'm  fooling  them,  and  the  whole  crowd 
of  us  can  go  to  blazes." 

"  What  is  the  longest  that  the  committee  can  now  defer 
calling  the  next  meeting  ?"  asked  the  General  again. 

"  Well,  we  may  be  able  to  wait  a  week — then  three  days 
more  before  the  day  of  thet  meeting — then  two  days  more. 
We  may  stretch  it  to  two  weeks  altogether." 

"  That  makes  six  weeks  to  election  after  they've  struck," 
said  the  Irishman.  "  Three  hundred  thousand  !  And  how 
much  will  you  get  out  of  that  yourself  ?"  he  asked  suddenly, 
looking  straight  at  Wollmer. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  business  that  is  of  yours,"  replied 
Wollmer,  with  confident  impudence.  "  The  situation  is  this : 
The  General  here  has  to  be  elected  Governor,  and  the  city 
Democratic  ticket  must  go  through.  Well,  the  General's  busi- 
ness is  to  go  on  as  he  has  been  going  and  run  his  campaign. 
When  he  and  the  party  are  elected,  you  will  have  the  city 
patronage  and  the  rest,  and  that  is  good  enough  for  you.  To 
do  this  you  need  the  labor  vote.  I  can  give  it  to  you,  but  I 
propose  that  I  shall  name  the  price  and  not  anybody  else. 
And  there  is  not  going  to  be  any  auditing  of  my  accounts, 
either.  I  have  to  turn  over  the  vote — that  is  my  business. 
You  can  furnish  the  funds  to  buy  it  with — that  is  your  busi- 
ness.   There  are  three  thousand  men  in  all,  and,  at  ten  dollars 


64  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

a  week,  that  is  thirty  thousand  dollars.  Add  all  the  expenses 
that  will  come  up,  and  it  makes  fifty  thousand  dollars.  Six 
weeks  at  that  is  three  hundred  thousand.  You  can  take  it  at 
that  price  or  leave  it,  just  as  you  please." 

"  That's  about  one  hundred  thousand  for  Mr.  Wollmer," 
said  the  Irishman,  quietly.  The  other  made  no  reply,  but  con- 
fined himself  to  scribbling  on  his  scrap  of  paper.  Suddenly 
Sullivan  threw  his  head  back  and  burst  into  a  deep-chested 
guffaw. 

"  An'  to  think  of  us  settin'  here,"  he  said,  "  an'  hagglin' 
like  so  many  fish-wives,  when  it's  closer  together  we  are  than 
Fidus  an'  Achates,  an'  there's  just  as  much  chance  of  our  fail- 
ing to  come  to  terms  as  there  is  of  the  crown  of  my  hat  quar- 
relin'  with  the  brim.  So  far  as  I'm  concerned,  it's  just  this: 
it  isn't  Tim  Sullivan  that  proposes  to  put  himself  in  the  peni- 
tentiary at  this  point  in  his  glorious  career.  Nor  is  it  that 
same  Tim  Sullivan  who  proposes  to  lose  this  election.  Sure, 
haven't  we  two  weeks  to  work  in  yet  ?  Let  yer  committee  go 
ahead  and  dally  along  just  as  much  as  ye  can,  an'  by  the  time 
that  ye  can't  do  nothing  any  longer  I'll  know  just  what  the 
resources  of  the  city  can  surrender." 

He  was  the  same  genial  Irishman  once  more,  and  all  trace 
of  menace  or  of  wrath  had  passed  from  his  face.  But  Woll- 
mer was  not  easily  taken  in. 

"  Well,  as  you  please,"  he  said,  indifferently  ;  "  I  just  wanted 
to  have  an  understanding.  You  know  now  what  it  will  cost, 
and  there  is  no  chance,  either  one  week  or  two  weeks  hence, 
of  its  being  any  less." 

It  was  difficult  to  find  any  satisfactory  answer  to  this,  so 
the  Irishman  contented  himself  with  stretching  himself  till  his 
huge  joints  cracked  and  yawning  cavernously,  while  the  Gen- 
eral coughed. 

"  By-the-byc,"  said  Sullivan,  suddenly  changing  the  subject, 
"  how  much  does  the  boy  there  know  of  things  ?"  and  he 
nodded  towards  Marsh's  room. 

"  I  never  talk  to  him  of  campaign  matters,"  said  the  Gen- 
eral, uneasily,  "  except  as  concerns  his  own  speeches." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  General  had  of  late  begun  to  feel 
ashamed  in  the  presence  of  his  young  partner.    He  knew  that 


BEHIND    THE    SCENES  65 

Marsh  believed  in  him  thoroughly,  and  he  dreaded,  when  they 
were  together,  lest  the  young  man  should  lead  the  conversa- 
tion to  the  level  of  the  ideal  politics  in  which  he  lived.  Per- 
haps the  General  had  some  echo  of  a  remembrance  of  high 
ambitions  which  had  inflamed  him  at  Horace's  age.  At  least, 
he  guessed  vaguely  how  abhorrent  much  of  his  present  work 
would  be  to  the  younger  one,  and  he  shrank  from  converse 
with  him  on  political  affairs,  lest  by  some  chance  word  or 
false  ring  in  his  voice  the  other's  suspicions  should  be  awak- 
ened. 

"  It  is  a  purty  boy,"  said  the  Irishman,  wTith  a  nod  of  in- 
telligence. "  As  I  was  tellin'  him  the  other  day,  the  party 
will  be  wantin'  United  States  Senators  some  day  soon  of  just 
such  stuff  as  he.  But  he'll  have  to  leave  his  campaign  in  the 
hands  of  his  friends,  for  Tim  Sullivan's  much  mistaken  in  the 
lad  if  he'll  ever  take  kindly  to  politics  outside  o'  the  public 
speakin'.  He  does  that  to  suit  Demosthenes  himself,  for  it's 
a  spark  of  the  sacred  fire  itself  that's  in  him.  But  it  isn't  the 
sacred  fire  that  wins  elections  in  these  degenerate  days.  It's 
great  stuff  to  set  the  meetin'  cheerin',  but  when  it  comes  to 
castin'  votes  it's  other  things  entirely  that  counts.  But  it's  a 
good  lad,"  the  Irishman  continued,  "  an'  we  must  keep  him 
with  the  party,  an'  I'm  thinkin'  the  best  way  to  do  that  is  to 
let  him  know  as  little  as  may  be  of  what  the  party's  doin'. 
When  ye're  breakin'  a  pup  there  is  such  a  thing  as  scarin'  the 
beast  at  the  outset,  and  never  a  cent  of  good  he'll  be  to  ye 
thereafter." 

The  big  Irishman,  accustomed  to  handle  men,  spoke  of  the 
young  lawyer  as  of  a  child — a  child  to  be  petted  and  pleased 
with  fairy  tales  and  promises  of  toys,  while  his  mind  is 
shielded  from  knowledge  of  the  wickedness  of  the  world. 


VI 

TWICE    TWO    AND    ONE    OVER 

The  next  day,  being  Wednesday,  was  Miss  Holt's  day  "at 
home."  On  this  particular  Wednesday  she  was  assisted  in  the 
reception  of  her  callers  by  her  two  friends,  Grace  Willerby  and 
Mary  Caley.  From  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  until  six 
o'clock  there  was  a  constant  coming  and  going  amid  the  flutter 
of  skirts  and  ripple  of  laughter,  while  the  reception-rooms  were 
clamorous  with  the  twitter  as  of  an  aviary  and  the  tinklina  of 
teacups. 

Horace  bad  intended  to  call  that  evening.  He  had.  work, 
however,  to  get  out  of  the  way  before  he  left  town  on  the  fol- 
lowing day  for  his  speech  at  Jackson,  which  compelled  him  to 
stay  at  the  office  until  late.  It  was  eight  o'clock  before  he 
reached  his  club  for  dinner,  and  after  half-past  nine  before  he 
found  himself  on  the  Holts'  door-step.  The  first  thing  that  he 
was  conscious  of  on  entering  the  dimly  lighted  room  was  that 
Marshal  Blakely  was  talking  to  Miss  Holt. 

Blakely  was  comparatively  a  new-comer  in  the  cit}%  having 
arrived  only  some  two  years  before,  when  Miss  Holt  was  in  Eu- 
rope. In  a  Western  town  of  only  moderate  size  (less  than  two 
hundred  thousand  inhabitants)  "society,"  though  including 
usually  some  amazingly  incongruous  and  even  unpromising 
elements,  is  necessarily  small ;  the  smallness  being  the  result, 
however,  less  of  a  premeditated  exclusiveness  than  of  lack  of 
proper  material.  In  fact,  the  "scarcity  of  men"  or  of  "girls," 
as  the  case  may  be,  furnishes  each  season  a  never-failing  topic 
of  conversation  among  hostesses  and  mothers,  and  as  a  subject 
for  lamentation  offers  a  pleasing  alternative  to  the  perennial 
grievance  of  the  poverty  and  crudity  of  the  available  supply  of 
domestic  help.      Society,  therefore,  welcomes  with  cordiality 


TWICE    TWO    AND    ONE    OVER  67 

any  reasonably  presentable  accession  to  its  ranks  arriving  with 
even  moderate  credentials  from  other  cities.  The  number  of 
these  accessions  will  rarely  exceed  one  or  two  in  any  given  sea- 
son, and  in  the  case  of  a  man  it  is  only  necessary  for  a  new 
arrival  to  show  some  aptitude  to  the  usages  of  society,  and  to 
avoid  making  any  very  serious  blunder,  to  find  himself,  soon 
after  his  introduction,  not  only  universally  invited,  but  even  rec- 
ognized, in  a  rather  tepid  way,  as  the  "  rage  "  of  the  day.  It 
is  surprising  to  see  over  what  indifferent  material,  of  the  youth- 
ful male  sort,  Western  society  can  become  mildly  enthusiastic. 

In  Blakely's  case  the  enthusiasm  had  amounted  to  something 
more  than  tepidity.  His  remarkably  good  looks  and  air  of  a 
man  of  the  world  were  in  themselves  sufficient  to  excite  at  least 
a  languid  interest  in  the  women  accustomed  to  the  rather  mo- 
notonous and,  it  must  be  confessed,  mostly  somewhat  common- 
place men  who  constituted  local  society.  Moreover,  whether 
from  policy  or  inclination,  he  had  not  shown  conspicuous  anx- 
iety to  be  "taken  up,"  but  had  refrained  from  cheapening  his 
company  or  making  his  presence  common  at  all  those  miscel- 
laneous festivities  of  a  lesser  sort  in  which  Western  society  dis- 
ports itself.  Given  these  factors,  the  result  was  a  mathematical 
certainty.  He  came  to  be  an  invariable  topic  of  conversation 
at  feminine  lunches  and  five  o'clock  teas.  It  was  generally 
surmised  that  there  had  been  some  tremendous  romance  in  his 
past,  many  versions  of  which,  ranging  all  the  way  from  the 
accidental  suicide  of  his  beloved  to  tales  of  Corsican  vendetta, 
gained  considerable  currency.  Hostesses  were  most  gracious 
to  him.  Girls  fluttered  at  his  approach.  Even  men  who  were 
not  naturally  drawn  to  him,  from  hearing  him  so  much  dis- 
cussed by  the  women,  came  to  regard  him  as  in  some  way  a 
person  of  more  than  ordinary  importance,  and  treated  him  with 
cordiality  and  even  deference  at  the  clubs  and  in  business. 

Letters  from  her  friends  had  given  Miss  Holt,  while  in  Eu- 
rope, more  than  one  description  of  him.  Mrs.  Tisserton  had 
written  that  he  was  like  "  some  sort  of  an  evil  god,"  and  added 
that  she  "  pitied  the  girl  who  found  herself  in  his  power,  as 
probably  many  had  done  in  the  past,  and  doubtless  more  would 
do  in  the  future."  It  is  not  in  feminine  nature  not  to  feel 
some  curiosity  to  meet  an  evil  god,  especially  when  the  owner 


68  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

of  that  nature  is  twenty-three  years  of  age  and  the  god  some 
half  a  decade  older.  But  some  months  had  passed  after  Miss 
Holt's  return  home  before  she  met  Blakely.  She  had  heard 
much  of  him.  "  Oh,  but  you  must  meet  him,"  her  friends  said, 
and  more  than  once  she  was  told  how  much  he  wished  to  be 
introduced  to  her.  But  at  first  Miss  Holt  had  not  been  "go- 
ing out,"  and  then  came  Lent.  Finally,  when  she  did  see  him, 
it  was  at  the  theatre. 

She  was  in  a  box  on  a  level  with  the  stage,  but  removed 
some  distance  from  it.  Shortly  before  the  curtain  rose  she 
became  aware  of  a  man  in  evening  dress  (which  was  not  the 
invariable  costume  of  men  attending  the  theatre  there  alone), 
who  was  taking  his  seat  in  the  parquet,  some  three  or  four 
rows  farther  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  and  perhaps  six  chairs 
distant  from  the  line  of  the  box.  Her  glance  had  only  fallen 
on  him  for  an  instant,  but  she  knew  at  once  that  it  was  lie, 
and  she  was  further  conscious  that  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  .her. 
One  of  her  companions  leaned  over  and  whispered  hurriedly 
that  there  was  Mr.  Blakely.  The  thing  annoyed  her.  The  in- 
formation was  superfluous,  and,  moreover,  had  been  so  clumsily 
imparted  that  she  was  well  aware  that  he  had  seen  the  move- 
ment and  understood  it.  Miss  Holt,  therefore,  kept  her  eyes 
obstinately  on  the  drop-curtain,  refusing  to  turn  her  face  by 
the  smallest  inclination  in  his  direction.  But  she  knew  that 
he  still  looked  at  her,  and  under  his  gaze  she  felt  her  pose 
growing  stiff  and  awkward,  and  herself  becoming,  an  unusual 
thing  for  her,  embarrassed  and  self-conscious. 

All  through  the  evening  she  felt  that  his  eyes  were  on  her 
much  more  than  on  the  stage.  Twice  during  the  progress  of 
the  play  the  restraint  became  intolerable,  and  she  had  suffered 
her  glance,  as  if  carelessly,  to  wander  over  the  house  and  fall 
on  him  in  passing.  Each  time  his  eyes  had  shifted  away,  so 
that  without  their  glances  meeting  she  could  not  help  know- 
ing that  his  had  but  just  left  her  face.  Moreover,  she  knew 
that  he  meant  her  to  know  it.  She  was  constrained  and  un- 
comfortable throughout  the  evening.  It  made  her  angry — 
firstly,  because  there  was  no  reason  for  embarrassment,  and, 
secondly,  because  she  knew  that  he  must  notice  that  it  existed, 
and  could  scarcely  fail  to  understand  its  cause. 


TWICE    TWO    AND    ONE    OVER  69 

As  the  curtain  fell  on  the  last  act  and  she  rose  from  her 
seat,  her  face  turned  involuntarily  full  towards  him.  He  was 
looking  at  her,  and  for  a  moment  their  eyes  met  steadily. 
Then  hers  fell,  and  she  turned  confusedly  to  the  man  who  was 
holding  her  wrap  for  her.  She  was  painfully  conscious  that 
she  flushed  as  she  did  so,  and  her  spirit  chafed  under  the  un- 
reasonableness of  the  whole  thing.  All  the  way  home  in  the 
carriage  her  face  burned,  and  long  after  she  should  have  been 
asleep  she  tossed  uneasily,  full  of  wrath  and  mortification,  and 
haunted  the  while  by  that  scene  in  Tolstoi's  War  and  Peace, 
wherein  Natacha  surrenders  herself  to  Anatole  in  one  meeting 
of  their  eyes  in  the  opera-house. 

For  some  time  she  had  rather  avoided  meeting  him,  and  had 
endeavored  to  turn  the  conversation  into  other  channels  when- 
ever his  name  came  up.  When  they  did  meet  and  were  in- 
troduced, he  had  been  singularly  silent  and  deferentially  re- 
served. No  reference  was  made  on  either  side  to  the  evening 
at  the  theatre,  and  he  had  compelled  her  to  bear  the  larger 
share  of  the  conversation,  while  he  listened  with  downcast 
eyes  and  an  attitude  of  extreme  humility.  There  was  nothing 
of  the  air  of  the  conqueror  about  him,  nothing  to  imply  the 
existence  of  any  previous  relations  between  them,  except,  per- 
haps, even  in  his  humility,  the  slightest  smile  about  his  lips, 
and  sometimes  an  inscrutable  light  of  something  between 
amusement  and  self-confidence  in  the  recesses  of  the  eyes 
which  he  raised  once  and  again  to  hers,  which  seemed  to  tell 
her,  so  that  her  whole  being  revolted  against  it,  that  his  air  of 
deference  was  but  to  humor  her,  and  that  their  positions  to 
each  other  might  be  otherwise  if  he  pleased  it.  His  quietness 
and  submissiveness  were  so  different  from  his  ordinary  manner 
towards  women  that  she  could  not  fail  to  be  aware  of  them,  or 
to  know  that  he  intended  she  should  be  aware  of  them,  and 
that  they  were  meant  to  convey  to  her  an  intimation  that  she 
stood  apart  from  all  other  women  in  his  regard.  He  could  not 
have  adopted  an  attitude  more  surely  calculated  to  pique  her 
pride  or  to  make  her  more  acutely  conscious  of  the  influence 
which  he  had  already  established  over  her. 

Never  before  had  any  man  succeeded  in  placing  her  in  a 
similar,  and  what  was  so  essentially  a  false,  position  towards 


70  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

him.  She  told  herself  that  he  was  insolent ;  but  that  he  had 
not  been.  She  said  that  his  behavior  was  unwarrantable ;  but 
what  had  he  done  that  was  tangible  at  which  offence  could  be 
taken  ?  She  assured  herself  that  she  hated  him  ;  nevertheless, 
she  was  conscious  of  a  persistent  and  unreasonable  desire  to 
see  him,  and  when  driving  in  the  street  her  eyes  would  con- 
tinually single  out  from  among  the  throng  on  the  sidewalk 
men  whose  figures  from  a  distance  resembled  his.  But  though 
she  seemed  to  meet  Horace  Marsh  frequently  when  down-town, 
and  other  acquaintances  from  time  to  time,  she  had  never  yet 
seen  him. 

Then  came  the  evening  at  which  Horace  had  been  so  miser- 
ably aware  of  her  constraint  at  Blakely's  presence.  Since  then 
they  had  met  several  times,  and,  as  Horace  had  seen,  she  had  not 
again  betrayed  any  embarrassment  in  his  company.  She  told 
herself  that  there  was  no  longer  danger  of  her  feeling  any — 
that  the  effect  of  his  fixed  gaze  that  evening  at  the  theatre 
had  been  no  more  than  she  would  have  felt  at  being  similarly 
stared  at  by  any  other  man  whom  she  had  not  met,  but  whom 
she  had  heard  much  talked  of.  She  even  affected  to  be  more 
at  ease  in  his  company  than  in  that  of  any  other  man  of  her 
acquaintance,  adopting  with  him  a  tone  of  light-heartedness 
and  nonsensical  raillery  which  was  new  in  her.  But  at  the 
bottom  of  her  heart  she  knew  that  she  was  acting,  that  the 
gayety  was  assumed  only  because  she  feared  to  give  him  an 
opportunity  of  being  serious.  So  far  he  had  maintained  his 
first  attitude  of  deference.  She  was  safe  at  present  within  the 
defences  of  forced  mirthfulness  which  she  had  erected"  around 
her;  but  he  had  made  no  attempt  to  break  these  defences 
down.  Should  he  attempt  it,  how  strong  would  they  prove? 
She  scarcely  dared  to  think,  but  once  and  again  a  certain  tone 
in  his  voice,  or  a  new  light  in  his  eye,  had  made  her  heart 
throb  so  that  she  nearly  choked,  and  made  her  tremble  in  her 
intrenchments. 

To-night,  for  the  first  time,  lie  seemed  to  have  made  up 
his  mind  to  abandon  in  part,  but  in  part  only,  his  attitude 
of  humility.  There  was  something  more  of  confidence  in 
his  manner  at  meeting,  something — not  quite  a  pressure  of 
her   hand,  but  the   holding  of  it  prisoner  for  an   instant — 


TWICE    TWO    AND    ONE    OVER  71 

which  awoke  her  alarm.     Then  he  had  referred  to  their  first 
meeting. 

"  I  have  not  seen  you  at  the  theatre  for  a  long  time,"  he 
had  said. 

"  No,  I  have  not  been  there  at  all  this  fall — not  since  last 
spring,"  she  replied. 

"  I  have  only  seen  you  there  once,"  he  said,  with  his  eyes 
downcast. 

She  strove  to  make  her  voice  sound  careless  and  indifferent 
as  she  asked  in  reply  : 
"When  was  that?" 

But  the  tone  sounded  false  to  herself,  and  he  had  not  an- 
swered. Only  he  raised  his  eyes  to  hers,  and  his  gaze  said 
plainly  enough  :  "There  is  no  need  for  me  to  tell  you  ;  we  both 
remember."  He  quickly  dropped  his  eyes  again,  and  both  sat 
silent  for  a  space.  It  was  at  this  moment  that  Horace  entered 
the  room.  There  were  half  a  dozen  others  there,  but  he  was 
conscious,  acutely  conscious,  only  of  those  two,  and  he  knew 
that  there  was  silence  between  them,  and  that  something  was 
passing — if  not  a  crisis,  at  least  something  which  marked  an 
epoch  in  the  relations  between  this  man  whom  he  hated  so  and 
the  woman  whom  he  loved. 

She  rose  to  meet  him  quickly,  and  as  if  she  were  very  glad — 
as  indeed  she  was — to  escape  from  the  strained  silence  which 
seemed  to  be  stifling  her.  Horace  saw  that  she  was  glad,  but 
he  was  too  near  guessing  the  reason  of  it  to  take  much  com- 
fort in  her  friendliness. 

"  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  yon  for  the  flowers,"  she  said, 
nodding  her  head  towards  a  side-table  whereon  his  roses  stood, 
massed  in  a  deep-toned  Rookwood  vase.  "  There  was  no  card 
with  them,  but  I  know  they  came  from  you — did  they  not?" 

"  There  was  no  need  of  a  card,"  he  said,  half-jestingly,  "  for 
'  each  red  rose,'  you  know,  has  a  capacity  for  speaking  which 
other  flowers  have  not." 

"  Is  that  so  ?"  she  replied,  indifferently.  "  Anyway,  I  adore 
American  Beauties;  they  are  so  full  of  sunlight,  and  their 
perfume  intoxicates  me.  I  want  to  crush  them,  or  bury  my- 
self in  them,  or  roll  over  them,  like  a  cat,  or  something.  Sniff- 
ing is  so  inadequate !"     And   she  walked  over  to  them  now 


72  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

and  thrust  her  face  into  the  blossoms,  and  found  their  dewy 
scented  coolness  inexpressibly  refreshing*. 

Horace  passed  on  to  shake  hands  with  the  other  women,  and 
to  exchange  words  of  greeting  with  the  men  in  the  room.  He 
was  still  standing  up  engaged  in  this  when  he  saw  that  Blakely 
was  saying  "Good-night  "  to  Miss  Holt. 

"Must  you  be  going?"  he  had  heard  her  voice  say,  and  the 
tone  sounded  conventional  enough.  She  alone  knew  that  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  wished  for  a  man  to  stay  even 
while  she  feared  lest  he  should.  "Or  does  he  know  it,  too?" 
she  asked  herself,  with  trembling.  There  was  a  quiet,  authorita- 
tive look  of  understanding  in  his  eyes,  and  a  pressure  of  her 
hand — a  definite  pressure  this  time,  which  could  not  be  mis- 
taken— which  she  fancied  told  her  that  he  read  her  heart. 

Others  left  soon  after.  At  nearly  ten  o'clock  it  was  probably 
too  late  to  expect  more  callers,  and  there  remained  with  the 
three  women  only  Marsh  and  Barry,  Marsh's  chum,  who  would 
presumably  wait  that  they  might  go  home  together. 

"  I  know  that  I  arrived  most  unorthodoxly  late,"  said  Marsh, 
as  the  five  were  seated  in  an  irregular  semicircle  round  the 
open  fire,  "  but  I  had  a  lot  of  work  to  do  which  kept  me  at  the 
office,  and  I  am  to  be  out  of  town  for  a  couple  of  days.  I  had 
to  come  to-night,  or  I  should  not  have  had  the  distinguished 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  ladies  again  until  Saturday,  which  would 
have  been  intolerable.  And  now  that  I  am  here  I  know  that  I 
ought  to  be  going  again.  But  that  looks  equally  intolerable — 
especially  as  I  have  Barry  to  keep  me  in  countenance." 

"  To-morrow,"  said  Jessie,  "is  the  day  when  the  apostle  ex- 
horts the  multitudes,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  To-morrow,"  said  Horace,  briefly ;  "  and  the  apostle  hates  it." 

"  What,  the  multitude  ?"  asked  she.     "  Bad  apostle  !" 

"No,  the  job,"  Marsh  replied,  "if  the  apostolic  calling  can 
be  said  to  resolve  itself  into  jobs.  I  wonder,"  he  added,  medi- 
tatively, "  whether  the  real  apostles  ever  hated  to  talk — whether 
there  were  times  when  they  were  not  in  the  mood  for  it,  and 
whether  they  were  nervous  beforehand.  One  cannot  imagine 
it,  but  I  suppose  they  did." 

"  Is  it  not  recorded,"  asked  Barry,  "  that  on  one  occasion  at 
least  Peter  stood  up  and  was  bold  ?" 


TWICE    TWO    AND    ONE    OVER  73 

"Yes,"  Marsh  replied  ;  "  but  that  was  before  a  comparatively 
small  audience.  Besides,  the  mere  fact  that  it  was  worth  re- 
cording then  would  seem  to  imply  that  he  was  not  always  so." 

"But  on  this  occasion,"  interjected  Miss  Holt,  "I  thought 
the  apostle  was  eager  for  the  fray.  He  spoke  as  if  he  were  a 
few  days  ago." 

"  In  some  ways  he  is,"  Marsh  said,  slowly.  "  He  wants  to 
make  the  exhortation  well  enough.  But  to-morrow  he  would 
rather  be  elsewhere.  I  should  like  to  have  been  a  member  of 
the  theatre-party." 

11  Who  is  going  ?"  asked  Miss  Caley. 

Horace  had  been  longing  to  ask  that  question,  but  did  not 
dare. 

"  I  do  not  know  them  all,"  said  Miss  Holt,  "  I  understand 
there  are  to  be  three  boxes.  The  Tissertons  are  going,  I  know, 
and  we  three,  and — and  Mr.  Blakely."  There  was  an  almost 
imperceptible  change  of  tone  as  she  mentioned  the  last  name, 
but  a  change  which  at  least  one  of  the  auditors  caught.  "Are 
you  going,  Mr.  Barry  ?"  she  asked,  quietly,  turning  to  that  per- 
son. 

"  No,  I  am  not  bidden,"  he  replied.  "  Mrs.  Brace  does  not 
like  me." 

"Impossible!"  exclaimed  Miss  Willerby,  with  exaggerated 
incredulity. 

"But  a  fact,  just  the  same;  and  I  have  been  overwhelmingly 
sweet  to  her,"  Barry  complained.  "  It  was  not  my  fault  in  the 
first  instance,  anyway.  I  accidentally  overheard  her  lecturing 
Brace  one  day — oh,  years  ago.  It  was  at  the  Carringtons',  at  a 
dance,  and  I  was  hunting  for  my  partner  round  those  intermi- 
nable verandas.  Before  I  knew  it  I  had  heard  two  or  three  sen- 
tences, and  before  I  could  escape  she  had  discovered  me.  Jingo  ! 
she  was  giving  it  to  him,  too  !" 

"  What  a  shame,"  said  Miss  Holt,  languidly.  "  He  is  such 
a  dear,  inoffensive,  gentle  creature." 

"You  cannot  imagine  his  not  behaving  like  a  perfect  lady 
under  any  circumstances,"  Miss  Willerby  remarked. 

A  certain  proneness  to  sarcasm  was  that  young  woman's 
chief  fault.  A  striking,  even  a  handsome  girl,  tall  and  slender, 
blonde,  but  with  dark  eyebrows,  had  she  been  born  to  wealth 


74  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

she  would  have  been  the  pet  and  leader  of  any  society  in  which 
she  might  have  been  thrown.  As  it  was,  she  had  been  familiar 
from  a  child  with  all  the  shifts  and  inconveniences  of  a  house- 
hold in  straitened  circumstances.  At  first  she  had  rebelled  bit- 
terly against  her  inability  to  have  as  many  dresses  and  hats,  as 
many  ornaments  and  pleasures,  as  other  girls  of  her  age.  Grad- 
ually, however,  she  had  learned  to  keep  her  resentment  to  her- 
self, and  by  the  use  of  her  deft  needle  to  repair  as  far  as  pos- 
sible the  deficiencies  of  her  wardrobe.  She  was  never  richly, 
but  always  becomingly  dressed.  As  soon  as  her  education  was 
completed  she  had  been  compelled  to  take  a  place  as  teacher  in 
the  public  schools,  and  the  days  which  her  friends  spent  in 
pleasure  and  flirtation  and  thinking  of  their  dresses  had  been 
occupied  for  her  with  work,  and  work  of  a  hard  and  harassing 
kind.  Reading  much  by  herself  in  the  long  evenings,  she  had 
acquired  a  certain  independence  of  thought,  as  she  had  early 
learned  to  rely  upon  her  own  resources  for  her  gowns.  She 
was  not  cynical ;  the  natural  fulness  and  sweetness  of  her  nat- 
ure forbade  that — only  a  somewhat  reserved  girl  accustomed  to 
think  and  act  for  herself,  reconciled  to  the  fact  that  one  of  her 
moderate  means  could  in  her  position  in  society  expect  few 
lovers.  In  return  she  was  inclined  to  be  regardless  of  what 
the  world,  from  which  she  received  so  little,  thought  of  her. 
Her  pupils  loved  her,  and  her  friends  of  both  sexes  said  : 
"  What  a  pity  she  does  not  marry ;  she  would  make  such  a 
splendid  wife  !"  When  any  suggestion  of  the  kind  was  made 
to  her  she  laughed  a  little  bitterly,  saying  that  she  would  al- 
ways be  an  old  maid  ;  she  could  not  afford  a  husband.  For 
the  rest,  she  kept  her  own  counsel,  did  with  even  good-nature 
her  day's  work  as  it  was  allotted  to  her,  and  was  the  strength 
and  comfort  of  a  somewhat  sordid  and  cheerless  home.  It  was 
not  surprising  if,  in  her  broodings,  and  feeling  herself,  as  she 
did,  so  much  apart  from  the  world  to  which  she  was  so  near, 
she  had  acquired  a  trick  of  sarcasm  of  speech  which  was  really 
without  malice  or  uncharitableness.  In  speaking  of  her  to 
Horace,  Miss  Holt  had  said  more  than  once  that  there  was  the 
making  of  a  heroine  in  the  girl — if  she  was  not  one  already. 

As  she  sat  now  in  the  centre  of  the  circle  about  the  fireplace 
she  was  conscious,  but  not  resentfully,  of  being  the  odd  mem- 


TWICE    TWO    AND    ONE    OVER  75 

ber  of  the  party — the  puss  without  a  corner.  A  stranger  coin- 
inor  in  would  probably  have  said  that  she  was  the  handsomest 
and  most  interesting  person  in  the  room.  But  on  her  left  sat 
Miss  Holt  with  Horace  on  the  other  side  of  her,  and  Miss  Wil- 
lerby  did  not  need  to  be  told  how  little  Horace  cared  whether 
any  other  person  was  present  or  not.  On  her  right  Barry's 
body  was  inclined  at  as  sharp  an  angle  as  possible  towards  Miss 
Caley,  to  whom,  from  time  to  time,  he  addressed  trivial  asides 
in  a  subdued  tone  of  infinite  tenderness. 

Barry  was  always  in  love  with  somebody.  He  never  denied 
it,  but  justified  himself  by  quoting  Sterne:  "I  have  been  in 
love  with  one  princess  or  another  all  my  life,  and  hope  I  shall 
go  on  so  till  I  die,  being  firmly  persuaded  that  if  ever  I  do  a 
mean  action,  it  must  be  in  some  interval  betwixt  one  passion 
and  another." 

Marsh,  some  time  back,  had  been  immoderately  delighted  by 
accidentally  coming  across,  in  Longfellow's  "  Spanish  Student," 

the  lines : 

..."  That  heart  of  thine 
Is  like  a  scene  in  the  old  play  ;  the  curtain 
Rises  to  solemn  music,  and  lo !  enter 
The  eleven  thousand  virgins  of  Cologne  !" 

He  had  gleefully  given  the  quotation  to  Barry  to  read,  and 
since  then,  whenever  the  latter  embarked  on  confidences  in  re- 
lation to  his  latest  flame,  it  was  only  necessary,  to  close  the 
conversation,  for  Marsh  to  say,  in  a  tone  of  affected  careless- 
ness : 

"  By-the-bye,  Barry,  have  you  ever  read  '  The  Spanish  Stu- 
dent '  ?" 

In  Miss  Caley  it  seemed  as  if  Victorian  had  met  his  match. 
It  is  Howells  who  has  made  one  of  his  characters  say  that 
"  What's  passing  in  every  girl's  mind  when  she's  thinking  " 
is  "  processions  of  young  men  so  long  that  they  are  an  hour 
o-ettino-  by  a  given  point."  Miss  Caley  was  a  soft,  kitten -like 
young  person,  undoubtedly  pretty,  but  possessed  of  an  incurable 
habit  of  flirtation.  Neither  age  nor  condition  of  servitude  ap- 
peared to  make  material  difference  in  the  other  party,  provided 
only  that  the  other  party  was  of  the  male  sex.  She  had  a 
preference  for  youth  —  anywhere  from  fifteen  to  thirty -five 


76  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

years  of  age  —  and  a  decided  preference  for  dark  eyes  and  a 
curly  mustache.  But  in  default  of  these  desirable  accessories, 
almost  anything  male  would  suffice.  Let  it  be  the  aged  min- 
ister, come  to  make  a  pastoral  call,  or  a  messenger-boy  arriving 
with  an  accidental  billet-doux,  it  was  beyond  the  power  of  Mary 
Caley  to  prevent  her  eves  from  saying  to  them,  as  plainly  as 
eyes  could  speak  :  "  Do  fall  in  love  with  me  !  Please  fall  in 
love  w?ith  me!"  It  was  not  her  fault,  she  honestly  believed. 
Those  incorrigible  eyes,  with  their  long  brown  lashes,  were  sim- 
ply beyond  her  control.  Their  appeal,  moreover,  was  not  often 
resisted.  Even  the  minister  pronounced  her  a  "  decidedly 
prepossessing  child,"  while  the  messenger- boy  dreamed  for 
nights  afterwards  of  rescuing  her  from  Indians,  and  longed  for 
the  day  when  another  message  would  take  him  to  her  house. 
For  the  others,  those  with  the  eyes  and  mustaches,  they  often 
took  it  seriously — for  several  days  at  a  time.  During  those 
days  she  went  in  ecstasy,  moving  joyously  through  the  house 
spilling  snatches  of  song,  and  always  on  the  lookout  for  call- 
ers or  messages  or  presents  of  flowers  and  bonbons — of  which 
she  received  amazing  quantities  in  the  course  of  a  year.  She 
said  it  was  all  "such  fun,'1  and  would  confide  to  other  members 
of  her  family  in  occasional  bursts  of  hysterical  confidence,  min- 
gled with  laughter,  during  which  she  would  hide  her  face  and 
her  blushes  in  the  sofa  cushions,  what  he  (the  "he"  of  the  time 
being)  had  said  to  her;  to  all  of  which  the  members  of  the 
family  would  listen,  too  much  amused  to  be  seriously  shocked, 
for  they  knew  that  it  would  not  last,  and  that  admonition  would 
be  wasted.  Then  "  he  "  would  grow  jealous ;  there  would  be 
a  stormy  scene  of  recrimination  and  tears,  and  all  would  be  over 
— forever.  A  day  or  two  days,  or  sometimes  a  whole  week, 
would  pass,  during  which  she  hated  mankind,  and  revolved  fear- 
some thoughts  of  prussic  acid  and  pistols.  This  was  only  the 
overture,  however,  to  the  next  act.  The  curtain  rose  with  a  new 
leading  gentleman. 

Just  now  her  eyes  talked  to  William  Barry.  The  fitful  fire- 
light helped  them,  so  that  they  were  astonishingly  eloquent. 
Nor  was  Barry  likely  to  steel  himself  against  them. 

And  all  this  Miss  Willerby  understood  as  she  sat  and  looked 
into  the  fire. 


TWICE    TWO    AND    ONE    OVER  77 

For  Horace,  he  only  knew  that  Blakely  was  to  take  his  place 
at  the  theatre  next  evening-,  and  that  she  was  sitting  by  his  side 
now,  and  that  his  heart  was  breaking.  She  was  dressed  in  a 
simple,  half -evening  costume  of  the  soft  material  known  to 
dress-makers  as  "Henrietta,"  of  the  same  shade  of  violet  as  she 
had  worn  at  the  dinner — her  favorite  color,  apart  from  the  fact 
that  she  was  not  yet  fully  out  of  mourning.  It  was  cut  round 
at  the  neck  (in  what  is  called  the  Gretchen  style),  and  as  she 
lay  back  in  her  voluminous  chair  the  firelight  lit  up  the  fulness 
of  her  throat  and  the  soft  curves  of  her  cheek,  once  and  again 
touching  the  white  forehead,  from  which  her  dark  hair  was 
drawn  in  rippling  waves  upward  and  backward.  Her  beauty 
was  of  a  high,  serene  type  which  would  stand  this  mode  of 
coiffure,  ruinous  to  a  merely  pretty  face  which  relies  on  piq- 
uancy for  its  charm.  As  she  reclined  now,  in  an  attitude  of 
complete  relaxation,  her  hands  resting  on  the  broad  arms  of 
the  chair  and  her  head  thrown  back,  the  eyes  almost  closed  as 
she  looked  at  the  fire,  so  that  the  dark  lashes  nearly  rested  on 
the  cheek,  with  the  whiteness  of  the  throat  and  forehead,  she 
seemed  to  Horace  beyond  expression  beautiful  with  a  beauty 
that  was  queenly  and  most  pure.  He  longed  to  lean  over  and 
put  his  lips  on  hers;  and  he  clinched  his  hands  till  the  nails 
almost  dug  into  the  flesh  as  he  said  again  and  again  to  himself 
that  he  must  win  her.  Surely  it  must  be  so  !  Why  else  had 
he  thus  been  thrown  near  her,  and  why  was  this  love,  on  which 
all  the  hopes  and  ambitions  of  his  life  depended,  given  to  him 
if  it  were  to  be  futile?  And  he  sickened  and  burned  at  the 
thought  that  any  other  man — and,  most  of  all,  Blakely — could 
ever  possess  her. 

The  conversation  was  desultory  and  lifeless,  as  it  could  not 
help  but  be  when  more  than  half  the  company  were  so  busy 
with  their  own  thoughts  and  emotions. 

"  But  there  must  be  some  men,  surely"  said  Miss  Caley,  plain- 
tively. "Mr.  Blakely  is  going  to  be  of  no  use  to  us"  indicat- 
ing Miss  AVillerby  by  a  glance. 

Miss  Holt  made  no  sign  that  there  was  any  significance  in 
the  speech,  and  there  was  silence. 

"I  wish  I  were  going,"  said  Barry  to  Miss  Caley,  in  an  under- 
tone full  of  mean  in  o;. 


78  MEN    BOEN    EQUAL 

"  I  wish  you  were,"  said  that  young  lady,  casting  her  eyes  down 
with  the  air  of  one  from  whom  a  reluctant  confession  is  wrung. 

Then  they  drifted  back  to  the  subject  of  Horace's  impending 
speech.  Miss  Caley  thought  it  must  be  just  sweet  to  be  able 
to  sway  masses.  Didn't  Mr.  Barry  think  so?  He  did,  and  was 
deliciously  conscious  of  being  swayed  himself. 

"Are  you  ever  nervous?"  asked  Miss  Willerby. 

"  Horribly  !"  Marsh  replied.  "  I  am  uneasy  for  a  day  before, 
and  the  last  half-hour  is  agony.  When  I  am  being  introduced 
to  the  audience  I  am  going  through  the  very  valley  of  the  shad- 
ow. I  run  cold  up  the  back,  and  my  mouth  is  sticky.  By  the 
time  the  applause  has  died  away  the  faces  before  me  begin 
slowly  to  individualize  themselves,  instead  of  being  merely  a 
sea  of  white  discs.  But  the  silence  when  the  applause  stops 
and  the  audience  comes  to  attention  is  awful.  It  is  a  frightful 
effort  to  break  it,  and  when  I  do  so  my  voice  sounds  cracked 
even  to  myself.  After  a  few  words  it  begins  to  steady  down, 
quite  of  its  own  accord  and  without  volition  on  my  part,  and 
adjusts  itself  to  the  room.  Once  it  has  fairly  found  its  gait,  as 
it  were,  I  like  it,  especially  if  the  audience  is  responsive,  and 
answers  promptly  when  I  call  upon  it." 

"It  must  be  splendid!"  said  Miss  Caley,  with  enthusiasm. 
"  Is  your  eloquence  turbid,  Mr.  Marsh  ?" 

"  Sometimes  my  thoughts  are,"  he  laughed. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and  then  Miss  Willerby  spoke. 

"  '  'Twixt  banks  intent  the  turbid  river  rolls,'  "  she  .said, 
musingly,  to  the  fire.  "Nobody  can  tell  me  where  that  quo- 
tation comes  from." 

"  Shelley,"  suggested  Miss  Caley. 

Even  to  Barry  there  was  a  certain  ineptitude  in  this,  and  lie 
said,  humbly : 

"  I  don't  think  it  can  be  Shelley.    It  doesn't  sound  like  him." 

"Don't  you  think  so?  I  love  Shelley,  don't  you?"  she 
asked,  confidentially.     He  did,  of  course,  as  was  his  duty. 

"  What  is  it?"  she  asked,  feeling  her  way  to  a  quotation  : 

"  '  The  fountains  mingle  with  the  rivers, 
The  rivers  kiss  the  sea.'  .  .  . 

I  think  he  is  sweet!" 


TWICE    TWO    AND    ONE    OVER  79 

"Was  the  quotation  from  Willerby?"  asked  Miss  Holt. 

"No;  it  was  the  first  line  of  a  poem  that  I  saw  published 
the  other  day  in  an  educational  paper — an  original  poem  by  a 
young  Hindu  student  in  some  college  in  India.  I  think  it  is 
immense." 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  '  intent '  ?"  asked  Horace. 

"  I  don't  know  :  I  don't  think  he  did.  He  used  all  sorts  of 
queer  words  later  on — like  a  negro,  without  any  apparent  rec- 
ognition of  their  sense.  But  if  some  great  poet  had  written 
that,  we  should  all  say  it  was  splendid  —  "Twixt  banks  in- 
tent.' " 

And  silence  fell  again. 

"I  didn't  know  that  Indians  spoke  English,"  said  Miss 
Caley,  presently.  "  I  thought  they  spoke  Indian.  Didn't 
you?"  turning  to  Barry. 

"  Well — er — "  and  he  hesitated — "  they  do,  you  know,  nat- 
urally— Hindustani,  that  is.     But  they  are  taught  English." 

"Oh  !  by  the  missionaries  and  things." 

Barry  nodded,  without  committing  himself  in  words. 

"  I  should  love  to  be  a  missionary — it  must  be  so  noble  !" 
she  said  ;   "  wouldn't  you  ?" 

"  If  you  were  a  missionary  I  would  rather  be  a  savage,"  he 
said,  softly.     "  Would  you  teach  me  ?" 

"  If  you'd  promise  not  to  eat  me,"  she  laughed. 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  would  or  not;"  and  he  looked  at 
her  carnivorously. 

Meanwhile  the  clock  on  the  mantel  showed  that  it  was  near- 
ly eleven  o'clock,  and  Horace  knew  that  they  must  be  going; 
so  he  rose  reluctantly.     The  others  did  the  same. 

"It  is  awfully  hard  to  go,"  he  said,  "and  plunge  into  the 
outer  darkness." 

"  Don't  call  it  that !"  said  Miss  Caley  ;  "  the  outer  darkness 
is  where  devils  and  things  are  thrown." 

"And  don't  you  consider  us  as  two  poor  devils?"  asked 
Marsh.  And  there  was  real  misery  in  his  eyes — misery  min- 
gled with  reproach  —  a9  he  took  Miss  Holt's  hand  to  say 
"  Good-night."  She  gave  it,  and  smiled  very  sweetly  and  ten- 
derly in  reply,  as  if  she  would  like  to  comfort  him  and  make 
amends. 


80  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

When  the  men  had  bowed  themselves  out  and  the  front  door 
was  shut  behind  them,  the  three  girls  stood  for  a  minute  mus- 
ingly. Miss  Caley  sat  down  at  the  open  piano  and  ran  her 
right  hand  lightly  over  the  treble.    Then  she  jumped  up  again. 

"  What  eyes  Mr.  Blakely  has  !"  she  said. 

There  was  no  reply  for  a  minute;  then  Miss  Willerby,  stand- 
ing with  one  foot  on  the  fender,  said,  with  apparent  irrelevance 
but  in  a  tone  of  conviction  : 

"  The  tip  of  Mr.  Marsh's  little  finger  is  worth  the  whole  of 
Mr.  Blakely,  body  and  soul  together,  with  all  his  cousins  and 
aunts  and  parents  and  grandparents  and  remote  ancestors 
thrown  in." 

"Don't  talk  of  remote  ancestors  just  before  going  to  bed  !" 
exclaimed  Miss  Caley.     "  I  know  I  shall  see  ghosts  if  you  do." 

Miss  Holt  had  not  seemed  to  hear  this  conversation,  but  had 
touched  the  button  of  an  electric  bell,  in  response  to  which  the 
butler  now  entered  the  room. 

"Is  Mr.  Holt  still  in  the  library,  Thomas?"  asked  his  mis- 
tress. 

"  Yes,  miss." 

"  Will  you  girls  have  anything  to  eat  or  drink  before  going 
to  bed — lemonade  or  anything?" 

"Gracious,  no,  dear!"  said  Miss  Willerby;  "we  have  been 
eating  and  drinking  all  day  !" 

"Well,  let  us  go  and  say  good-night  to  papa.  You  can  turn 
out  the  lights  here,  Thomas.  Come  on,  girls!  Good-night, 
Thomas." 

"  Good-night,  miss ;"  and  the  butler  moved  silently  over  to 
the  piano -lamp  and,  stooping  under  the  shade,  felt  for  the 
knob  by  which  to  turn  it  down  ;  while  the  three  left  the  room, 
Miss  Holt  leading  and  the  others  following,  Miss  Caley  with 
her  arm  caressingly  round  Miss  Willerby's  waist. 


VII 


A    MAN    OF    AFFAIRS 


Barry,  in  addition  to  his  extraordinary  susceptibility  to  the 
charms  of  the  fair  sex,  was  a  person  of  some  originality  in 
other  ways.  His  father  had  been  one  of  the  "  early  settlers  " 
when  the  now  flourishing  city  was  no  more  than  a  trading- 
post  in  the  wilderness,  and  the  son  had  lived  here,  except  for 
occasional  absences  of  a  few  months  at  a  time,  all  his  life. 
Having  been  at  school  with  more  than  half  of  the  women  and 
men  of  his  age  in  town,  he  called  them  by  their  Christian  names, 
and  they  in  turn,  men  and  women  alike,  called  him  "Will." 
He  had  led  more  cotillons  and  acted  as  best  man  at  more  wed- 
dings than  any  other  three  men  in  the  place,  and  had  danced 
and  fallen  in  love,  for  he  was  now  thirty-six  and  had  begun  to 
dance  at  eighteen,  with  more  than  a  dozen  successive  "crops" 
(as  he  called  them)  of  girls.  His  partners  of  to-day  had  sat 
upon  his  knees  years  ago  when  he  called  to  make  love  to  their 
aunts  and  elder  sisters,  and  his  partners  of  the  old  days  had 
daughters  to  whom  Barry  found  it  necessary  now  to  take  off 
his  hat  in  the  street.  It  would  not  be  many  years  before  he 
was  dancing  with  them,  he  said.  He  himself  had  scarcely 
aged  in  the  last  eighteen  years.  In  appearance  he  was  tall 
and  loose-jointed,  slightly  round-shouldered,  with  lightish  brown 
hair  and  mustache,  the  former  dry  and  unruly,  especially  one 
lock  which  insisted  on  falling  over  his  forehead  almost  to  his 
eyes,  so  that,  as  he  hurried  about  a  ball-room,  he  was  forever 
smoothing  it  with  his  hand  or  throwing  it  back  with  a  colt-like 
toss  of  the  head. 

His  business  capacity  had  not  so  far  given  evidence  of  being 
remarkable.  For  a  time  he  had  studied  law,  and  had  been  ad- 
mitted to  the  bar.     The  window  of  his  office  bore  the  sign  in 

6 


82  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

gold  letters  "  William  Barry,  Attorney-at-Law — Real  Estate  and 
Loans."  As  a  matter  of  fact,  be  did  almost  anything  now  ex> 
cept  practice  law,  interesting  himself  in  whatever  came  bis 
way,  especially  in  the  organization  of  companies  (which  were 
never  fully  organized)  for  the  exploitation  of  impracticable 
patents.  He  was  not  known  to  have  made  money  in  anything; 
but  was  constantly  losing  small  amounts  in  almost  everything. 
However,  though  his  father  had  been  of  a  thriftless  turn  in  his 
later  years,  there  still  remained  enough  of  the  original  home- 
stead claim,  now  valuable  city  property,  to  make  the  son  some- 
thing more  than  well-to-do,  and  to  place  him,  barring  some 
exceptional  recklessness,  beyond  the  danger  of  financial  discom- 
fort to  the  end  of  his  days.  Business,  with  him,  was  not  a 
means  of  making  money,  but  a  method  of  passing  the  time. 
He  supported  his  office  much  as  another  man  might  support  a 
stable  or  a  conservatory.  He  used  to  say  himself  that  it  was 
fortunate  that  he  was  not  of  a  naturally  industrious  disposi- 
tion ;  it  would  soon  ruin  him.  At  present  he  only  worked 
half  the  time  —  dabbled  in  business  as  one  might  dabble  in 
horse-racing — and  the  expenditure  came  comfortably  within  the 
limits  of  his  income.  -  If  he  were  to  work  all  the  time,  he 
would  assuredly  live  beyond  his  means. 

It  was  in  this  same  paradoxical  spirit  that  he  approached 
the  details  of  his  work.  It  was  not  the  commercial  value  of  a 
scheme  that  interested  him  so  much  as  its  artistic  merits.  Thus 
he  had  a  few  days  before  unfolded  to  Marsh  the  outline  of  a 
project  for  a  new  company  to  which  he  was  just  then  devoting 
his  time.  It  was  to  be  called  the  National  Monumental  Asso- 
ciation, and  was  in  the  nature  of  an  insurance  company  ;  but 
instead  of  paying  a  sum  of  money  to  the  heirs  at  death,  the 
association  would  erect  a  monument  to  the  deceased  in  some 
conspicuous  location  in  the  city.  The  plan  contemplated,  in 
the  first  place,  the  securing  from  the  city  of  an  exclusive 
franchise  for  the  erection  of  monuments  in  the  parks  and 
public  squares,  the  association  agreeing,  in  exchange  for  the 
franchise,  to  erect  at  least  one  monument  every  year  in  com- 
memoration of  some  distinguished  fellow  -  townsman.  The 
designs  for  the  monuments  would  be  subject  to  the  approval  of 
the  City  Council.    A  list  of  some  two  hundred  or  two  hundred 


A    MAN    OF    AFFAIRS  83 

and  fifty  "  prominent  citizens  "  was  drawn  up,  and  these  were 
to  be  approached  and  solicited  to  subscribe.  A  payment  of 
two  hundred  dollars  a  year,  during  life,  would  secure  at  death 
a  life-size  marble  statue  of  the  deceased,  to  be  erected  on  a  site 
selected  at  the  time  of  payment  of  the  first  premium.  Two 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a  year  would  secure  an  heroic  figure 
with  a  base  ten  feet  in  height.  Five  hundred  dollars  a  year 
would  suffice  for  a  granite  plinth  twenty-five  feet  high  and  a 
colossal  figure  on  the  top.  Special  rates  were  to  be  provided 
for  equestrian  statues,  memorial  arches,  and  fountains,  and  for 
statues  approached  by  flights  of  steps  and  supported  by  sym- 
bolical groups,  while  scales  of  payment  were  further  graded 
in  accordance  with  the  desirability  of  the  site  selected. 

"It  isn't  in  human  nature,"  he  said,  enthusiastically,  "that 
any  of  these  men  will  refuse  to  come  in.  Ninety  per  cent,  of 
them  will  subscribe,  anyway.  There  will  be  money  in  it,  and, 
morover,  the  association  will  be  a  public  benefactor.  In  twenty- 
five  years  the  city  will  be  better  supplied  with  statues  than  any 
town  of  its  size  in  the  country." 

Whether  he  was  really  in  earnest  in  the  scheme  or  not  it 
was  difficult  to  say,  but  at  least  he  was  devoting  his  time  to  its 
development  with  considerable  ardor.  He  had  drawn  up  the 
articles  of  association  and  a  draft  of  a  franchise  to  be  sub- 
mitted to  the  council,  and  was  at  work  on  the  prospectus,  in 
which  the  advantages  to  subscribers  were  set  forth  in  alluring 
and  picturesque  phraseology.  He  had  had  maps  of  the  city 
prepared,  on  which  all  possible  monumental  sites  were  marked 
with  a  red  star,  and  each  was  numbered.  These  were  to  be 
classified  according  to  their  desirability  and  their  suitability  for 
special  types  of  monuments.  Draughtsmen  were  at  work  de- 
signing statues  of  a  variety  of  types  which  were  to  be  used  by 
the  canvassers  of  the  association  in  soliciting  patronage,  and 
full  instructions  were  to  be  drawn  up  for  the  guidance  of  the 
canvassers  in  approaching  every  individual  on  the  list-^-with 
hints  as  to  his  character  and  means,  and  the  class  of  statue 
which  each  was  most  likely  to  be  disposed  to  invest  in. 

This  preliminary  work  on  his  schemes  Barry  never  failed  to 
elaborate  on  the  minutest  scale.  Usually  the  scheme  ended 
with  this  preliminary  work,  and  Marsh  did  not  anticipate  that 


84  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

the  National  Monumental  Association  would  ever  advance  be- 
yond the  stage  at  which  his  other  projects  had  been  dropped — 
as,  for  instance,  his  Ladies'  Clearing-house  and  Five  o'Clock 
Tea  Parlors,  on  which  he  had  been  so  busy  a  few  weeks  ago. 
This  plan  contemplated  the  establishment  somewhere  down- 
town, in  one  of  the  large  office  buildings,  of  a  suite  of  rooms 
to  be  furnished  as  luxuriously  as  possible,  with  heavy  draper- 
ies, deep  chairs,  and  mellow  lights,  at  which  women  would 
drop  in  and  chat  during  the  afternoon,  and  where  men,  leaving 
their  offices  for  twenty  minutes  in  the  middle  of  the  hurry  of 
business,  could  refresh  themselves  with  a  cup  of  tea  amid  these 
sumptuous  surroundings,  and  with  the  added  distraction  of 
women's  society.  He  was  sure  that  both  men  and  women 
would  patronize  the  parlors  largely — especially  in  view  of  the 
clearing-house  feature  of  the  scheme.  Women  would  not  only 
meet  here  and  exchange  calls,  but  they  would  leave  at  the  office 
blocks  of  their  cards — two  hundred,  say,  at  a  time — together 
with  lists  of  those  for  whom  they  were  intended.  The  lists 
thus  left  would  be  checked  off  against  each  other,  and  the  cards 
"  cleared,"  as  checks  are  through  a  regular  clearing-house,  once 
a  week,  or  as  often  as  might  appear  desirable.  It  would  relieve 
women  of  all  the  drudgery  of  the  social  "  calling"  of  to-day. 

Barry  had  spent  considerable  time  in  what  he  called  "  mis- 
sionary work"  among  the  women  of  his  acquaintance  in  behalf 
of  this  enterprise.  He  had  obtained  the  refusal  of  a  long-term 
lease  on  a  desirable  suite  of  offices  suitable  for  the  purpose ; 
had  made  elaborate  calculations  of  income  and  expense ;  had 
received  estimates  and  competitive  designs  for  the  decoration 
and  furnishing  of  the  rooms  from  all  over  the  country.  Then 
the  thing  had  been  shelved  —  only  for  a  while,  Barry  said, 
because  he  was  busy  with  other  things. 

The  number  of  schemes  of  this  kind  which  he  evolved  was 
almost  endless.  One  was  for  an  International  Matrimonial 
Bureau,  a  regularly  incorporated  company,  which  was  to  place 
the  existing  system  of  international  marriages  of  American 
heiresses  to  European  noblemen,  where  Barry  asserted  it  right- 
fully belonged,  on  a  frank  and  open  commercial  basis.  Wealthy 
fathers  of  marriageable  daughters  in  this  country  were  to  be 
invited  to  subscribe  in  annual  payments  to  a  common  fund, 


A    MAN    OP    AFFAIRS  85 

which  fund  was  to  be  used  for  purchasing  the  outfits  and  pay- 
ing the  travelling  expenses  of  eligible  noblemen  in  Europe,  who 
would  be  consigned  to  this  country  with  letters  of  introduction 
only  to  the  subscribers  to  the  fund. 

Another  plan  contemplated  the  contracting  for  advertising 
rights  in  all  the  elevators  in  office  buildings  in  large  cities,  the 
space  to  be  sublet  to  advertisers,  as  is  done  now  in  street-cars, 
etc.  Yet  another  had  in  view  the  establishment  of  what  Barry 
called  a  Card  School,  whereat,  in  apartments  similar  to  those 
of  the  Social  Clearing-house  and  Five  o'Clock  Tea  Company, 
ladies  were  to  be  given  lessons  in  whist,  ecarte,  euchre,  piquet, 
Boston,  cribbage,  bezique,  hearts,  and  whatever  else  might  be 
the  fashionable  card  games  of  the  day. 

In  all  of  Barry's  schemes  there  was  sufficient  commercial 
plausibility  to  forbid  their  unqualified  condemnation  without 
trial;  but  they  possessed  also  a  certain  twist  and  eccentricity 
which  prevented  their  being  a  tempting  field  for  the  invest- 
ment of  capital.  The  only  company  which  he  was  known  to 
have  ever  fully  organized  was  one  for  the  refining  of  sugar  by 
the  use  of  an  electric  current,  based  on  patents  which  had  sub- 
sequently been  proved  to  be  worthless.  For  the  rest,  they 
never  advanced  beyond  the  preliminary  stages,  but  sufficed 
meanwhile  to  keep  their  originator  pleasantly  and  not  too  ex- 
pensively occupied,  as  well  as  affording  endless  entertainment 
to  his  friends. 

Barry's  mother  had  died  when  he  was  a  child,  and  his  father 
had  followed  her  when  the  son  was  sixteen  years  of  age.  He 
had  no  brothers  or  sisters.  Marsh  liked  him,  as  did  everybody 
else,  and  for  nearly  two  years  the  pair  had  shared  the  suite  of 
bachelor  apartments  which  they  now  occupied — two  sitting- 
rooms,  two  bedrooms,  a  bath-room,  etc.  The  rooms  were  situ- 
ated well  down-town,  and  on  this  Wednesday  night  the  two 
walked  the  mile  and  a  half  which  lay  between  the  "Holt  man- 
sion "  and  their  quarters  almost  in  silence.  It  was  a  beautiful 
night,  crisp  and  cold,  without  moonlight,  but  the  sky  luminous, 
and  every  star  brilliantly  distinct.  The  paved  sidewalks  lay 
glistening  white  before  them,  and  on  either  side  the  outlines  of 
the  houses  and  trees  stood  out  in  clear-cut  silhouette  against 
the  steely  background.     They  walked  briskly,  each  occupied 


86  MEN"    BOEN    EQUAL 

with  his  own  thoughts,  their  arms  swinging,  and  their  foot- 
steps, as  their  heels  struck  the  stones  in  unison,  echoing  in  the 
silent  night  air.  Scarcely  a  word  had  been  exchanged  when 
they  reached  their  quarters. 

The  gas  having  been  turned  up,  each  disappeared  to  his  own 
room,  but  presently  reappeared,  patent-leather  shoes  having 
been  exchanged  for  slippers,  and  dress -coats  for,  in  Marsh's 
case,  a  gray  sack-coat,  and,  in  Barry's,  for  a  gorgeous  scarlet 
smoking- jacket,  faced  with  quilted  blue  silk.  The  room  was 
large  and  comfortably  furnished,  the  big  centre-table  littered 
with  books,  magazines,  and  writing-materials.  Three  of  the 
walls  were  almost  covered  to  a  height  of  some  five  feet  from 
the  floor  with  book-shelves,  well  filled  with  the  united  libraries 
of  the  two  men.  Above  the  book-shelves  hung  a  number  of 
engravings  and  etchings,  all  good  and  some  of  considerable 
value,  sprinkled  between  trophies  of  fencing  masks  and  foils, 
tennis  L  racquets,  boxing-gloves,  guns,  rods,  riding- whips,  and 
the  like.  Over  the  entrance  was  a  large  elk's  head  with 
branching  antlers.  Along  the  fourth  side  of  the  room,  on 
either  hand  of  the  fireplace,  ran  a  deep  wall-seat,  comfortably 
upholstered  and  strewn  with  many  cushions.  On  this,  after 
the  two  had  filled  and  lighted  their  pipes  (for  both  were,  in  the 
privacy  of  their  chambers,  pipe  smokers),  Barry  threw  himself 
at  full  length,  while  Marsh  sank  back  into  the  recesses  of  a  vast 
arm-chair.  The  latter  smoked  a  short  English  brier,  while  his 
companion  flaunted  one  of  those  impossible  German  mon- 
strosities with  a  portentously  long  and  flexible  stem  and  a 
painted  porcelain  bowl,  with  which  Barry  was  always  in  diffi- 
culties, and  constantly  spilling  the  lighted  tobacco  in  small 
heaps  on  the  floor,  which  smoked  like  altar  fires  until  he  rolled 
off  the  lounge  to  stamp  them  out  with  his  foot. 

For  some  minutes  they  puffed  in  silence,  which  was  at  last 
broken  by  Marsh. 

"  What's  a  man  to  do  when  a  scoundrel  comes  across  his 
path  and  gets  in  his  way  ?"  he  asked. 

"  What  kind  of  a  scoundrel  ?"  queried  the  other.  "  One 
that  the  police  are  after,  or  just  an  every-day,  evening -dress, 
snake-in-the-bosom,  husband's-best-friend  kind  ?" 

"  Well,  the  police  would  be  no  use  in  this  case." 


A    MAN    OF    AFFAIRS  87 

"  Oh  I"  said  Barry,  sententiousl y,  "  then  the  best  thing  to  do 
is  to  let  him  alone." 

"  But  if  he  is  in  love  with  the  girl  you  are  in  love  with  ?" 
Marsh  suggested. 

"The  man  who  is  in  love  with  your  girl  is  always  a  scoun- 
drel," remarked  the  dogmatic  Barry. 

"  Well,  but  what  would  you  do?" 

"  What  would  I  do  ?"  snorted  Barry,  contemptuously. 
"  What  do  I  do,  you  mean.  Why,  go  in  and  cut  him  out 
and  get  the  girl.  Sometimes,"  he  added,  philosophically,  "  the 
other  fellow  goes  in  first,  however,  and  then  he  gets  the  girl." 

"  Generally,  I  should  say,"  Marsh  remarked,  "  judging  from 
results.  You  don't  seem  to  have  hung  on  to  many  of  the 
girls  that  you  have  got." 

"  That's  a  fact,"  Barry  exclaimed,  briskly,  and  with  a  cer- 
tain bird-like  air  of  surprise,  as  if  some  entirely  new  and  inter- 
esting fact  had  been  brought  to  his  attention.  "  I  haven't, 
have  I  ?    Not  one  !    Nary  girl." 

Then  silence  intervened  again.     Presently  Barry  continued: 

"  He  is  a  scoundrel,  though.     I'm  with  you  there." 

"  Who  ?"  asked  Marsh,  in  surprise. 

"  Why,  Blakely,"  replied  the  other.  Marsh  made  no  com- 
ment, but  he  had  not  intended  that  the  personal  application  of 
his  inquiries  would  be  so  readily  grasped  and  so  bluntly  put 
into  words.  They  puffed  on  again  for  a  while,  and  then  Bar- 
ry broke  out : 

"  It's  an  amazing  thing,"  he  said,  "  how  good  girls  insist  on 
falling  in  love  with  worthless  men.  The  better  the  girl,  in  fact, 
the  worse  the  man  whom  she  seems  to  prefer.  Given  a  good 
girl  with  a  good  brother,  and  she  will  always  fall  in  love  with 
a  man  whom  he  won't  ask  to  his  house." 

"It  really  seems,"  Marsh  assented,  gloomily,  "as  if  the 
average  woman  liked  wickedness  in  men." 

"  Like  it !"  broke  in  Barry,  "  she  adores  it !  It  is  just  the 
kind  of  wickedness  that  she  ought  most  of  all  to  abominate 
that  she  adores  most.  A  clean  fellow,  with  honest  ambitions 
and  made  of  the  right  stuff,  has  no  manner  of  show  compared 
to  a  dashing,  dissipated  rake,  who  makes  a  business  of  making 
fools  of  women.     If  getting  a  wife  was  the  only  end  of  ex- 


88  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

istence,  we  should  have  to  turn  our  code  of  morals  upside- 
down,  and  blackguardism  would  be  a  leading  virtue." 

"  I  wonder,  however,"  suggested  Marsh,  "  if  men  are  not 
equally  fascinated  with  bad  women." 

"Bad  men  are,"  said  Barry — "and  the  majority  of  men 
are  bad.  Scott !  what  a  beastly  thing  the  average  man  of 
the  day  is  !  And,  therefore,  in  a  casually  assorted  hundred 
men,  the  fast,  flashy  woman  will  find  more  admirers  than  the 
sweet,  modest  girl.  But  the  best  men  want  their  women 
good — especially  for  marrying.  But  the  trouble  is  that  it  is 
the  best  women  who  want  the  bad  men.  They  take  them 
like  people  in  England  eat  that  fruit — what  is  it  called? — med- 
lars ! — just  rotten  !     And  they  marry  them,  too." 

"  '  Here  continueth  to  rot  the  body  Sir  Somebody  Some- 
thing,'" Marsh  quoted  from  the  famous  epitaph.  "But  there 
is  one  thing  to  be  said:  women  don't  know  what  a  bad  man 
means." 

"  Not  until  they  marry  him,"  said  Barry,  "  and  then  they 
find  out.  It's  terrible.  And  what  is  to  be  done  ?  Tell  them 
everything  ?  Nobody  can  do  that  except  the  girls'  mothers, 
and  it  must  be  pretty  hard  for  a  mother  to  put  those  kind  of 
things  into  a  pure  girl's  mind.  And  do  we — the  other  men, 
I  mean — want  girls  to  know  everything?" 

"  There  is  no  way  to  help  it  except  by  men  being  better," 
said  Marsh.  "  The  average  man — take  the  average  man  in 
the  average  ball-room — isn't  fit  to  touch  the  average  girl  that 
he  dances  with." 

"  Of  course  he  isn't.  But  you  may  as  well  talk  of  making 
the  earth  roll  backward  as  of  making  men  better.  So  long 
as  society  is  anything  like  what  it  is,  and  human  nature  is 
human  nature,  men  are  going  to  be  beasts  and  women  are 
going  to  love  them  for  it." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Marsh,  thoughtfully. 
"  One  thing,  I  think,  is  certain,  and  that  is,  that  in  the  last 
hundred  years,  whether  men  have  grown  to  be  any  better  in 
regard  to  women  or  not,  they  have  grown  to  seem  better. 
The  tone  of  conversation  among  gentlemen  has  immeasurably 
improved.  There  weren't  any  gentlemen  in  those  days,  ac- 
cording to   our  ideas,  or  mighty   few.     Men  bragged  about 


A    MAN    OF    AFFAIRS  89 

things  then  that  they  keep  to  themselves  to-day,  and  from 
boasting-  of  a  thing  to  being  ashamed  of  it  is  a  good  long 
step  towards  reform.  It  is  quite  true  that  we  still  regard  as 
venial  offences  lots  of  things  which  ought  to  be  treated  as 
deadly  sins.  But  they  are  offences  now.  They  were  not  in 
the  last  century ;  and  I  think  we  are  on  the  upward  road  the 
whole  time.  I  believe  in  human  nature — in  social  as  well  as 
political  ethics.  It  is  Emerson,  isn't  it,  who  says  that  it  is 
only  by  strength  of  its  silent  virtue  that  mankind  continues 
to  exist — or  words  to  that  effect  ?  In  this  and  in  other  things 
I  think  men  are  getting  better,  and  will  get  better." 

"Maybe;  but  not  fast  enough  to  do  much  good  in  our 
generation.  It  may  come  in  time  to  save  our  granddaughters, 
but  I  doubt  it.  No  wonder  they  draw  Cupid  as  blind!  And 
yet  they  say  that  the  unknown  is  always  terrible.  Not  for 
women  it  isn't.  I  suppose  the  time  is  coming  when  we  shall 
be  ashamed  to  lie  and  steal  from  the  custom-house  and  the 
government  in  matters  of  taxes,  and  so  forth.  But  we  are  a 
good  long  way  from  it  yet." 

There  was  a  silence  of  some  minutes,  during  which  the 
thoughts  of  each  wandered  after  their  own  bent.  At  last  Barry 
spoke  again. 

"  Look  at  Effie  Marston,  who  married  that  Braisted  fellow," 
he  said.  "  She  was  one  of  the  sweetest  girls  in  town,  and 
there  was  not  a  decent  man  here  who  would  have  put  him  up 
at  a  club  or  asked  him  to  dinner.  I  saw  her  a  year  afterwards 
in  New  York.    What  a  wreck  she  was  !     I  hardly  knew  her." 

"  Then  that  Hardy  girl — Nellie — "  said  Marsh,  "  throwing 
herself  away  on  King !" 

"  Yes ;  there's  another  case.  Why,  I  was  in  love  with 
Nellie  Hardy  myself  once.  Not  sure  that  I  wasn't  in  love 
with  Effie  Marston,  too,  for  that  matter." 

Marsh's  pipe  was  out,  and  he  rose  and  knocked  the  ashes  out 
and  hung  it  on  a  rack  beside  the  mantel. 

"  Speaking  of  girls,"  began  Barry,  in  a  new  tone,  "  did  you 
notice  Miss  Caley  much?  I  think  she's  about  as  fascinating  a 
thing  as  I  have  ever  seen — " 

"  Have  you,"  said  Marsh,  as  he  stretched  himself  drowsily, 
"  ever  read  Longfellow's  '  Spanish  Student'  ?" 


90  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

"  Oh,  shut  up  !"  exclaimed  Barry,  as  he  rolled  off  the  lounge, 
upsetting  in  the  process  his  ashes  on  the  floor.  "Damn  Long- 
fellow's '  Spanish  Student '  f 

And  he,  too,  put  away  his  pipe,  and  stretched  himself. 


VIII 

THE    APOSTLE    AND    THE    MULTITUDE 

Long  after  Barry  was  asleep  Marsh  lay  tormented  with 
thoughts  of  Blakely  and  Miss  Holt  as  they  would  be  at  the 
theatre  the  next  evening.  When  he  slept  it  was  to  dream 
confused  dreams  of  Miss  Holt,  dressed  in  the  garb  of  an 
apostle,  on  trial  for  misappropriating  municipal  funds,  and 
pleading  in  excuse  that  she  did  not  know  that  Blakely  was 
rotten.  Before  his  usual  hour  for  rising  in  the  morning  he 
found  himself  suddenly  wide  awake,  his  mind  picking  up  the 
dismal  thread  of  his  thoughts  where  he  had  dropped  it  the 
night  before.  In  the  cold,  new  light  the  situation  showed 
even  more  cheerless  than  it  had  overnight.  Indesperation 
he  threw  himself  out  of  bed  and  dressed  with  superfluous  en- 
ergy, splashing  much  in  his  bath,  and  brushing  his  hair  with 
ferocity.  But  do  what  he  would,  forever  was  there  drum- 
ming in  the  back  of  his  head  the  thought  that  they  would  be 
together  that  evening.  At  breakfast  he  pretended  to  read 
the  paper,  but  what  he  read  was  meaningless.  He  saw  what 
purported  to  be  a  "  special  telegram  "  from  Jackson,  saying: 

"  The  largest  rally  of  the  season  is  expected  at  Jason  Hall 
to-morrow,  when  the  Hon.  Horace  Marsh  is  to  speak  on 
the  principles  of  the  new  Democracy.  The  distinguished 
young  orator  will  arrive  in  Jackson  in  the  afternoon,  and  will 
be  met  by  a  deputation  of  leading  Democrats,  who  will  escort 
him  to  the  Boston  House,  where  a  suite  of  rooms  has  been 
reserved  for  him  during  his  brief  stay  in  the  city." 

He  smiled  to  himself  at  the  "  Hon."  before  his  name,  and 
wondered  what  the  deputation  of  leading  Democrats  would 
do  if  he  failed  to  appear  on  the  appointed  train,  but  stayed 
behind  to  attend  a  theatre-party.     The  morning  was  cold  and 


92  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

raw,  and  Marsh's  temper  did  not  improve  as  he  walked 
through  the  chilly  air  to  his  office.  He  opened  his  mail  and 
found  it  uninteresting.  A  letter  from  a  client  making  polite 
suggestions  as  to  the  line  of  defence  in  a  certain  suit  only- 
made  him  wish  that  there  was  some  legal  method  of  proceed- 
ing against  Blakely — an  injunction  to  stop  the  theatre-party, 
or  something  of  the  sort.  The  regular  monthly  statement 
from  the  livery-stable  at  which  he  kept  his  saddle-horse  con- 
jured up  the  vision  of  those  two  riding  side  by  side,  "  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Marshal  Blakely"  —  and  how  superb  she  was  on 
horseback  !     And  he  rode  well,  too,  confound  him  ! 

Then  his  partner  came  in,  rubbing  his  hands  cheerfully  and 
asking  him  when  his  train  left. 

"  In  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour,"  said  Marsh,  in  a  tone 
of  discontent ;   "  it  leaves  at  ten  ten." 

"  Well,  you  haven't  much  time,  have  you  ?  How  are  you 
feeling  to-day  ?     We   want  a  rattling  speech  to-night." 

Marsh  grumbled  something  about  feeling  well  enough,  and 
the  General  retired  to  his  own  room,  unpleasantly  conscious 
that  his  young  colleague  was  not  in  a  kindly  mood. 

"Get  me  a  messenger -boy,  will  you,  Franklin,"  Marsh 
called  to  one  of  the  clerks  in  the  outer  office,  and  he  heard 
the  "  whir-r-r-r-r "  of  the  mechanical  call  that  was  affixed  to 
the  wall  as  Franklin  turned  the  handle.  The  boy  came, 
chewing  gum,  and  lolled  against  Marsh's  desk,  letting  his 
eyes  wander  superciliously  round  the  office  as  Marsh  gave 
him  his  instructions  to  go  to  his  rooms,  get  his  valise,  take  it 
to  the  station,  and  wait  there  for  him.  The  boy  fumbled  te- 
diously over  his  book  of  charges. 

"Thirty-five,"  he  said.  Marsh  gave  him  the  money  and 
fifteen  cents  for  himself.  The  boy  turned  the  coins  over  in 
his  hand,  but  made  no  remark  either  of  thanks  or  complaint. 

"  Sign  that,"  he  said,  laying  a  crumpled  ticket  on  Marsh's 
desk.  Marsh  did  so,  and  the  boy  lounged  out  of  the  office 
whistling,  and  hitting  the  chairs  as  he  passed  them  with  a 
stick  which  he  had  in  his  hand. 

Twenty  minutes  later  Horace  had  said  good-bye  to  the  Gen- 
eral, and  was  buttoning  up  his  overcoat  on  the  point  of  leav- 
ing the  office  when  Sullivan  came  in. 


THE  APOSTLE  AND  THE  MULTITUDE  93 

"  Marrchin'  order,  is  it,  me  boy  ?"  he  rolled  out,  laying  a 
heavy  hand  on  Marsh's  shoulder.  "  The  young  Hannibal  in 
the  act  o'  starrtin'  to  cross  the  Alps  and  invade  the  innemy's 
counthry.  But  it  isn't  vinegar  at  all  that  he'll  be  usin'  to 
soften  the  rocks,  but  just  honey  and  molasses  and  sweet  blar- 
ney. Well,  give  it  to  'em,  me  lad  !  There's  a  score  or  so  o' 
benighted  Republicans  too  many  in  Jackson  that's  needin' 
convartin'  badly — not  to  mention  certain  self-glorified  Dimi- 
crats  that  thinks  they  own  the  party." 

At  length  Marsh  reached  the  station,  and  found  the  messen- 
ger-boy, the  valise  on  the  platform  beside  him,  engrossed  in 
the  titles  of  the  paper-covered  novels  at  the  news-stand.  Marsh 
relieved  him  of  his  charge  and  signed  the  crumpled  ticket  once 
more,  and  the  boy  lounged  away  again  without  having  said  a 
word.  It  was  a  local  train,  consisting  of  only  one  day-coach 
and  a  smoking-car.  The  coach  was  stiflingly  hot,  and  the  red 
plush  seat  which  Marsh  selected  looked  very  dusty.  There  were 
about  a  dozen  other  people  in  the  car,  including  the  inevitable 
baby.  It  seemed  to  Marsh  as  if  the  train  were  an  unconscion- 
ably long  time  in  starting,  and  then  it  ran  slowly  and  stopped 
at  every  station.  At  each  stop  the  agent  came  out  with  a 
scrap  of  paper  in  his  hand,  and  a  row  of  men  in  dusty  brown 
clothes,  their  trousers  tucked  into  their  boots,  and  broad- 
brimmed  slouch-hats  on  their  heads,  leaned  against  the  wooden 
depot-building,  and  looked  moodily  at  the  train  as  it  pulled 
in  and  out.  As  it  started  the  brakeman  came  into  the  car,  bang- 
ing the  door  behind  him,  and  set  himself  to  work  clatteringly 
at  the  stove,  with  no  other  apparent  purpose  than  to  make  a 
noise.  Marsh  tried  to  force  himself  to  think  of  what  he  was 
to  say  that  evening,  but  all  the  while  the  wheels  pounded  over 
the  rail  joints  with  a  "  clickety  !  clickety.!  Marshal!  Blakely  ! 
clickety  !  clickety  !  curse  him  !  curse  him  !"  and  it  grew  hot- 
ter and  hotter  in  the  coach,  and  the  baby  cried,  -and  Marsh 
wondered  why  on  earth  he  had  ever  gone  into  politics. 

About  one  o'clock  he  ate  a  sandwich — an  intolerable  deal 
of  bread  and  not  one  ha'penny  worth  of  ham  —  at  a  small 
way -station,  and  drank  two  mouthfuls  of  gritty  coffee.  Re- 
turning to  the  train,  he  entered  the  smoking-car  for  a  cigar 
after  his  meal,  but  the  place  smelled  foully,  and  the  floor  was 


94  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

littered  with  tobacco- juice  and  orange-peel.  Horace  threw 
away  his  cigar  before  it  was  half  smoked,  and  returned  to  his 
place  in  the  day-coach. 

About  three  o'clock  they  reached  Jackson,  and  Marsh,  step- 
ping from  the  car,  was  met  by  the  deputation  of  leading  Demo- 
crats, three  in  number,  each  wearing  a  silk  hat  and  a  flower  in 
his  button-hole.  The  spokesman  introduced  himself  and  then 
his  fellows,  and  insisted  on  taking  Marsh's  valise  from  his  re- 
luctant fingers.  The  party  entered  a  large  open  hack,  which 
was  waiting  for  them,  while  the  driver,  having  alighted  from  his 
box,  but  holding  the  reins  in  his  hands,  held  the  door  open 
and  swore  at  the  horses,  which  showed  signs  of  fidgeting.  It 
was  only  two  squares  to  the  Boston  House,  a  low,  two-story, 
wooden  building,  where  Marsh  registered  and  shook  hands 
with  the  proprietor,  who  said  that  he  was  glad  to  meet  him. 
The  "  lobby  "  of  the  Boston  House  was  a  big  bare  room,  with 
an  uneven  plank  floor  still  wet  with  washing,  studded  with 
large  leather  cuspidors  and  with  a  huge  iron  stove  in  the  centre, 
around  which  were  seated  a  dozen  men,  who  looked  in  seem- 
ingly contemptuous  curiosity  at  the  party  as  it  entered.  In 
one  corner  was  a  cigar  and  news  stand,  and  in  another  the 
hotel  office.  The  walls  were  hung  with  flaming  advertise- 
ments of  railways  and  framed  pictures  of  blonde  young  women 
in  excessively  low  evening  dress,  who  sipped  in  simpering  de- 
light champagne  of  various  brands. 

Would  Mr.  Marsh  like  to  drive  around  town,  or  was  he 
tired  after  his  journey,  and  would  he  prefer  to  go  to  his  room 
and  rest?  He  would  much  rather  go  to  his  room,  if  the  gen- 
tlemen did  not  mind.  On  the  contrary,  the  gentlemen  were 
evidently  relieved.  It  would  be  necessary,  they  explained,  to 
leave  the  hotel  at  about-  half-past  seven,  when  the  same  depu- 
tation would  have  the  pleasure  of  escorting  Mr.  Marsh  to  the 
hall,  and  if  Mr..  Marsh  would  not  object  to  taking  his  supper 
rather  early — say,  at  half-past  five — they  would  have  an  informal 
levee  in  the  hotel  lobby  for  an  hour  or  so,  in  order  that  the 
local  Democracy  might  meet  and  be  individually  presented  to 
the  distinguished  guest.  Mr.  Marsh  signified  his  modest  ac- 
quiescence in  this  arrangement,  and  was  shown  to  his  "  suite 
of  rooms." 


THE    APOSTLE    AND    THE    MULTITUDE  95 

The  suite  consisted  of  the  ordinary  Western  hotel  bedroom, 
and  a  small  and  uninviting  bath  -  room  opening  therefrom. 
The  bedroom  exhibited  the  usual  poverty  of  furnishing.  A 
large  double  bed;  a  chest  of  drawers  surmounted  by  a  mirror; 
a  small,  oblong  deal-table,  covered  with  a  white  table-cover,  in 
the  centre  of  the  room;  one  rocking-chair;  two  cane  chairs; 
a  white  ice-water  pitcher,  and  a  corrugated  china  match-safe 
on  the  mantel  completed  the  equipment,  except  that  on  one 
wall  hung  an  engraving — an  excellent  impression  of  Girardet's 
reproduction  of  Jules  Romain's  "Triomphe  de  Vespasien  et 
de  Titus,"  and  Marsh  wondered  how  in  the  world  such  a  thing- 
came  to  be  in  such  a  place.  He  looked  at  it  for  a  while,  and 
thought  what  a  dreadfully  jolty  and  uncomfortable  vehicle  the 
triumphal  car  must  have  been,  and  what  ridiculously  small 
heads  the  horses  had  for  their  fat  and  well-fed  bodies.  He 
gazed  aimlessly  out  of  the  window,  and  read  the  advertisements 
on  a  hoarding  opposite.  Then  he  shook  himself,  and  set  res- 
olutely to  work  to  rehearse  his  speech  for  the  evening.  But 
it  was  useless.  The  words  would  not  come,  and  the  only  thing 
that  he  could  think  of  was  the  theatre-party.  So  he  let  his 
thoughts  have  their  way,  and  somehow  the  hours  dragged  along. 

At  the  appointed  time  he  went  to  supper,  and  wrestled  for 
a  while  in  the  mournful  silence  of  the  bare  dining-room  with 
a  piece  of  impossible  steak.  Reaching  the  lobby  of  the  hotel,  he 
found  his  three  friends  of  the  afternoon  already  awaiting  him, 
and  the  tedious  process  of  introduction  began.  For  over  an 
hour  he  stood  there,  and  shook  hands  with  an  immense  number 
of  uninteresting  people — mostly  colonels  and  judges  and  ma- 
jors— who  seemed  to  have  nothing  to  say  beyond  that  they 
were  pleased  to  meet  him.  He  did  his  best  to  find  some  re- 
mark to  make  to  everybody,  and  to  keep  up  between  times 
a  fragmentary  conversation  with  the  body-guard  that  had 
grouped  itself  around  him.  Gradually  the  room  filled  up,  and 
the  air  was  thick  with  tobacco-smoke. 

"  I  haven't  seen  so  many  people  in  this  room,"  said  the 
spokesman  of  the  deputation  at  his  elbow,  "since  Voorhees 
was  here  two  years  ago."  The  spokesman  was  a  red-faced, 
plethoric  gentleman,  who  somehow  conveyed  by  his  manner 
the  impression  that  whatever  he  said  was  of  great  moment. 


96  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

Marsh  endeavored  to  look  properly  flattered.  But  all  the 
while  he  was  sickeningly  conscious  that  the  whole  thing  was 
a  ridiculous  farce.  He  felt,  as  he  had  never  felt  on  any 
former  occasion,  that  he  and  these  men  had  little  in  common, 
that  he  was  not  of  their  kind,  and  that  they  were  not  the 
material  of  which  the  ideal  party  for  the  redemption  of  the 
country  could  be  formed.  The  announcement  that  it  was 
"  nearly  time  to  be  moving  "  came  as  an  immense  relief,  and 
he  escaped  again  to  his  room,  to  spend  as  much  time  as  possi- 
ble in  washing  his  hands  and  face,  arranging  his  necktie,  and 
putting  on  his  overcoat. 

On  the  way  to  the  hall  he  could  think  of  nothing  except 
that  elsewhere  others  were  on  their  way  to  the  theatre,  and 
as  he  stood  among  the  side  -  scenes  on  the  stage  he  had  a 
curious  feeling  that  he  was  not  really  there.  The  voices  of 
the  members  of  the  body-guard  which  had  again  accumulated 
around  him  came  from  far  away,  and  their  demonstrative  en- 
thusiasm as  one  after  another  peeped  out  to  see  how  the  hall 
was  filling  up  appeared  absurdly  trivial.  Then  the  moment 
came  when  the  body-guard  filed  on  the  stage,  and  took  their 
seats,  among  much  shuffling  of  feet,  on  the  chairs  which  were 
arranged  in  a  semicircle  facing  the  audience.  Only  the  spokes- 
man of  the  deputation,  who  was  also  to  be  chairman  of  the 
meeting,  stayed  with  him.  The  short  burst  of  perfunctory 
applause  which  had  greeted  the  appearance  of  the  body- 
guard died  away,  and  silence  settled  on  the  house,  broken 
only  by  an  occasional  cough  or  the  movement  of  feet  in  the 
rear.  Then  the  chairman  signalled  to  him,  and  the  two 
stepped  out.  This  time  the  applause  was  more  in  earnest, 
and  Marsh  found  himself  bowing  in  the  glare  of  the  foot- 
lights, with  no  thought  except  of  the  ridiculousness  of  his 
being  here  when  the  whole  happiness  of  his  life  was  at  stake 
in  a  game  which  was  being  played  that  night  a  hundred 
miles  away. 

The  formal  introduction  was  soon  over,  and  as  the  chair- 
man retired  to  his  seat  the  applause  broke  out  anew.  Horace 
stepped  forward  mechanically,  and  squared  his  shoulders  as 
if  to  begin  to  speak.  He  let  his  eyes  wander  over  the  sea  of 
faces  before  him,  and  the  big  audience  was  still  as  if  it  were 


THE    APOSTLE    AND   THE    MULTITUDE  97 

frozen.  Seconds  passed,  and  he  did  not  speak.  The  silence 
became  oppressive,  and  an  uneasy  shuffling  of  feet  broke  out 
here  and  there  in  the  hall.  Suddenly  Horace's  voice  came 
forth  in  spite  of  himself.  He  knew  the  first  few  sentences 
of  his  speech  by  heart,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  without  any 
volition  on  his  part,  the  voice  spoke  them.  He  was  afraid — 
so  this  voice  which  issued  from  him  said — that  the  audience 
might  be  disappointed  in  what  he  had  to  tell  them,  being  mis- 
led by  the  advertised  title  of  his  address.  If  under  the  name 
of  the  principles  of  Democracy  they  expected  him  to  elucidate 
the  motives  of  the  Democratic  party  of  the  past,  if  they  ex- 
pected any  fiery  arraignment  of  the  members  or  the  actions 
of  the  Republican  party,  they  would  be  disappointed.  The 
principles  of  the  Democracy,  the  principles  which  he  trust- 
ed underlay  and  would  always  inspire  the  united  party  to 
which  they  all  belonged,  were  simply  the  principles  of  honor 
and  truth  which  underlay  and  inspired  all  right  government 
in  all  ages  and  all  nations.  "  It  is  necessary  "  (so  the  voice 
continued)  "that  we — you  and  I — should  understand  these 
principles  and  lay  them  to  our  hearts  ;  for  this  government  is 
a  government  by  the  people,  and  it  is  we — you  and  I — who 
are  of  the  party  of  the  people,  and  "  (and  he  raised  his  right 
hand  involuntarily  to  emphasize  what  he  was  saying)  "  ive — 
must — govern  /" 

There  wras  a  moment  of  silence  as  he  paused,  with  his 
hand  uplifted.  Then  in  a  sudden  crash  came  the  applause. 
Thenceforward  it  was  easy.  The  audience  proved  itself  quick 
and  responsive,  and  he  played  with  it.  He  talked  to  them 
and  they  listened.  He  dropped  his  voice  to  a  conversational 
tone  to  tell  an  anecdote,  and  they  laughed.  He  rose  to  a 
higher  level  and  spoke  of  the  eternal  principles  of  government, 
and  they  seemed  to  hold  their  breath.  He  drove  home  a 
maxim  of  political  morality,  or  flung  at  them  some  high  aph- 
orism of  one  or  other  of  our  country's  great  men  of  the  past, 
and  the  thunder  came  in  reply. 

For  an  hour  and  a  half  he  spoke,  with  no  thought  now 
save  of  the  cause  of  which  he  was  speaking.  He  led  his 
audience  with  him  out  of  the  valley  and  low  ground  of  parti- 
san politics,  up  to  the  foot-hills,  and  then  to  the  mountain- 

7 


98  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

tops ;  and  he  held  them  there.  There  was  no  abuse  of  indi- 
vidual leaders  of  the  other  side,  nor  of  the  Republican  party 
itself.  In  much  the  same  language  of  abstraction  and  gener- 
ality as  he  had  used  at  the  Holt  dinner -table,  he  told  his 
hearers  that  it  was  not  by  arraigning  individuals  or  inviting 
recrimination  that  the  ends  of  the  nation  could  be  served  or 
the  ends  of  right.  Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead.  There 
had  been  errors  made  and  wrongs  done ;  but  it  was  idle  to 
throw  all  blame  for  those  errors  and  those  wrongs  on  one 
party  or  one  set  of  men.  "  Let  us  rather  rejoice,"  he  said, 
"  that  Providence  in  its  mercy  has  seen  that  with  only  men 
to  govern — men  with  all  humanity's  natural  proneness  to  err 
and  to  be  unjust — the  history  of  our  country  holds  so  much 
that  is  high  and  noble.  Let  us  rejoice  rather  in  our  com- 
mon heritage  of  honor,  seeking  not  to  pull  down  but  to  build 
up,  not  striving  to  distinguish  between  this  good  thing  which 
is  ours  and  that  doubtful  act  which  is  theirs,  but  holding  intact 
as  on  one  glorious  scroll  all  the  noble  traditions  of  our  coun- 
try's past.  We  are  not  the  heirs  to  the  estate  of  any  party, 
but  to  all  our  nation's  history.  Let  us  remember  the  wrongs 
done  only  as  warnings  to  us  in  the  future ;  let  us  cherish 
whatever  is  good  for  an  example  for  our  guidance.  We  can 
take  no  backward  step.  All  the  glor.y  that  is  gone,  though 
living  with  us  yet,  is  but  a  preparation  for  the  greater  glory 
yet  to  come.  It  is  into  our  hands — the  hands  of  you  and 
me — that  the  destiny  of  the  nation  that  we  love  so  well  is  to 
be  given — given  only  in  trust  for  the  generations  that  come 
after.  It  is  for  us  to  see  that  in  our  hands  the  nation  passes 
only  from  greatness  to  greatness,  and  this  cannot  be  except 
we  place  our  trust  in  God,  and  recognize  that  only  by  truth 
and  justice  can  any  government  prosper." 

He  had  spoken  throughout  not  only  with  spirit  and  enthu- 
siasm, but  with  a  tone  of  conviction  in  the  future  of  the  cause 
which  gave  a  singular  weight  and  air  of  truth  to  whatever  he 
said.  The  speech  was  hardly  what  his  audience  was  accus- 
tomed to  listen  to  or  to  look  for  in  party  oratory.  There 
were  some  who  felt  at  times  a  certain  thrill  which  some- 
how reminded  them  of  long-forgotten  sensations  which  had 
come  to  them  as  children  when  in  church.     But  though  most 


THE    APOSTLE  AND   THE    MULTITUDE  99 

of  what  they  had  heard  was  unexpected  and  strange,  they 
could  not  but  feel  that  it  was  good  and  impassioned  and  pure. 
They  had  listened  breathlessly  to  every  word,  and  at  the  end 
they  were  conscious  that  their  faces  were  flushed  with  a  cer- 
tain triumphant  exaltation  of  spirit.  The  applause  as  the 
young  orator  closed  was  deafening,  and  he  was  compelled 
again  and  again  to  come  forward  and  bow  repeated  recog- 
nitions long  after  he  had  stepped  back  and  his  place  had 
been  taken  by  the  chairman  of  the  meeting,  who  stood  smil- 
ingly waiting  in  silence  before  he  could  ask  for  the  usual  vote 
of  thanks. 

In  doing  so  he  also  took  occasion  to  "  make  a  few  re- 
marks." They  were  brief,  but  they  jarred  on  Marsh's  senses 
horribly.  He,  in  speaking  of  the  party's  mission,  had  nec- 
essarily referred  to  "  those  influences  of  wealth  and  posi- 
tion and  personality  which  are  supposed  to  have  more  weight 
in  our  government  than  is  consistent  with  the  principles  on 
which  our  Constitution  is  founded."  He  had  spoken  only  in 
the  broadest  terms  fitted  to  the  high  ideals  which  he  preached. 
To  his  amazement,  however,  the  chairman  selected  this  one 
passage  of  his  speech  for  special  comment,  and  he  gave  to  it 
a  local  significance  which  was  not  only  far  from  Horace's  in- 
tention, but  which  revolted  him.  The  words  to  which  they 
had  just  listened,  said  the  chairman,  on  the  subject  of  the  in- 
equality of  the  distribution  of  wealth  and  the  tyranny  of  the 
corporations,  and  those  millionaires  whose  fortunes  and  power 
were  based  upon  the  iniquities  of  the  Republican  party's  sys- 
tem of  government  for  the  benefit  of  the  few  would,  the 
chairman  was  sure,  have  more  than  common  weight,  inas- 
much as  their  distinguished  guest  resided  in,  and  had  only 
that  morning  left,  their  sister  city,  which,  as  his  hearers 
knew,  was  about  to  be  convulsed  by  a  Titanic  struggle  be- 
tween the  forces  of  outraged  labor  and  tyrannical  capital. 
As  the  speaker  had  so  eloquently  said,  it  was  one  of  the 
proudest  boasts  of  the  Democracy  that  it  was  the  friend  of 
labor,  and  the  entire  party  in  the  State  would  sympathize  with 
the  working-men  in  the  noble  conflict  in  which  they  were 
embarking. 

For  a  moment  Horace  had  a  wild  idea  of  protesting  against 


100  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

assigning  to  him  any  such  sentiments  as  the  chairman  cred- 
ited him  with.  But  that  was  obviously  useless.  He  was  al- 
ready bowing  in  acknowledgment  of  the  applause  with  which 
the  thanks  of  the  meeting  had  been  voted  to  him,  and  from 
all  parts  of  the  house,  amid  much  trampling  of  feet  and  scrap- 
ing of  chairs,  a  movement  had  set  in  towards  the  stage.  Then 
came  more  handshaking,  and  Horace  was  compelled  to  smile 
his  thanks  to  endless  meaningless  compliments ;  but  through 
it  all  he  could  only  wonder  dully  what  had  happened  at  the 
theatre. 

At  length  he  was  alone  in  his  room  at  the  hotel  once  more, 
and  almost  as  soon  as  he  was  in  bed  he  fell  asleep  from  mere 
physical  exhaustion. 

He  returned  to  town  by  a  train  leaving  in  the  middle 
of  the  forenoon,  being  escorted  to  the  station  by  the  dep- 
utation of  the  preceding  day.  Half-way  on  his  journey  he 
obtained  at  a  way-station  his  customary  morning  paper.  His 
speech  he  found  reported  at  considerable  length,  filling  over 
a  column  of  "  special  telegram,"  and  he  read  it  with  the  usual 
annoyance  at  printers'  errors  and  reporters'  ineptitude.  When 
he  came  to  the  last  paragraph,  however,  his  face  lowered. 
The  chairman's  closing  remarks  were  also  reproduced  in  full, 
and,  turning  to  the  editorial  page  of  the  paper,  he  found  there 
a  long  article,  very  laudatory  of  himself,  in  which  all  that 
the  chairman  had  said  was  imputed  to  him,  and  he  was  repre- 
sented as  having  made  a  stirring  speech  in  behalf  of  the  cause 
of  labor  and  in  bitter  arraignment  of  the  two  companies  of 
which  Mr.  Holt  was  president. 

Had  he  been  more  experienced  in  the  intricacies  of  practi- 
cal politics,  he  would  doubtless  have  understood  that  the 
word  had  gone  out  from  headquarters  that  the  strike  was 
to  be  an  issue  in  the  campaign,  and  that  the  cause  of  the 
strikers  was  to  be  the  cause  of  the  party.  As  it  was,  he 
only  cursed  the  clumsiness  of  newspaper  writers  in  his  heart, 
and  thought  with  agony  of  what  Miss  Holt  would  think  if 
she  should  see  that  paper.  There  was  little  chance  of  that, 
however,  he  guessed ;  for  it  was  not  probable  that  the  Dem- 
ocratic party  organ  furnished  the  regular  morning  reading  in 
the  Holt  household. 


IX 

LOOKING    INTO    THE    GULF 

Novelists  have  much  to  say  about  the  slender  thread  upon 
which  the  fortunes  of  our  lives  are  strung — the  trifling  acci- 
dents and  chance  meetings  by  which  our  destinies  are  swayed; 
but  we  hear  little  of  the  narrow  escapes — the  propinquities 
which  just  miss  being  meetings — the  coincidences  which  barely 
fail  to  coincide.  If  once  in  a  while  we  find  ourselves  con- 
fronted by  a  well-known  face  in  a  foreign  land,  we  think  it  a 
marvellous  thing,  smacking  almost  of  the  supernatural.  But 
how  often  do  we  escape  these  collisions  only  by  a  hair's- 
breadth  ?  We  enter  the  very  car,  perhaps,  from  which  our 
friend  alighted  at  the  last  station ;  we  tread  in  his  footsteps, 
where  he  has  been  but  a  minute  before ;  he  passes  by  the 
door  of  the  house  wherein  we  are  hidden.  So  in  dreams 
ten  thousand  things  may  come  to  us — things  clothed  in  veri- 
similitude, and  which  might  just  as  well  happen  ;  but  they 
do  not.  And  they  pass  and  are  forgotten.  At  last  comes 
one  dream  which  impinges,  be  it  never  so  slightly,  on  the 
happenings  of  the  next  day  or  the  next  month,  and  we  cry, 
"  A  miracle  I"  We  store  it  in  our  memory,  and  tell  it  again 
and  again  in  after-years,  as  in  some  sort  reflecting  credit  on 
ourselves,  testifying  to  our  possession  of  a  measure  of  a  sec- 
ond-sight. 

There  was  a  moment  when  Horace  was  on  his  way  to  take 
the  train  to  Jackson  when,  had  he  but  turned  his  head,  he 
might  have  seen  Miss  Holt.  She,  indeed,  saw  him,  and  leaned 
forward  in  her  brougham,  wishing  that  he  would  turn,  and 
ready  on  the  moment  to  tell  her  coachman  to  stop.  With- 
out any  close  analysis  of  her  feelings,  she  felt  that  she  had 
caused  him  to  suffer,  and  was  eager  to  make  amends  by  wish- 


102  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

ing  him  at  least  good-speed  on  his  day's  errand.  But  there 
was  no  good  fairy  to  touch  him  on  the  shoulder — no  mag- 
netism in  her  thoughts  to  make  him  turn.  So  he  passed  on, 
brooding  with  downcast  eyes,  missing  the  smile  and  the  touch 
of  the  hand  and  the  kind  words  which  were  awaiting  him, 
and  which  would  have  gone  so  far  to  alleviate  the  discom- 
forts of  the  trip — to  have  made  the  hot  and  dusty  car  clean 
and  comfortable,  to  have  rendered  the  sandwich  palatable, 
and  given  the  coffee  flavor.  So  largely  subjective  are  the  im- 
pressions which  we  receive  from  external  things. 

Miss  Holt,  at  the  time,  was  on  her  way  to  her  father's  of- 
fice, to  discuss  with  him  some  questions  of  domestic  expen- 
diture. She  had  arisen  that  morning  with  a  light  heart,  and 
Miss  Willerby  had  not  failed  to  notice  the  joyousness  with 
which  she  presided  at  the  breakfast-table.  Arriving  at  her 
father's  office,  and  learning  from  the  obsequious  clerks  with- 
out that  he  was  disengaged,  she  passed  in  unannounced.  He 
was  always  glad  to  see  her,  for  they  were  good  friends.  As 
they  talked  now  she  stood  by  his  side,  with  her  arm  caress- 
ingly on  his  shoulder.  She  had  about  concluded  the  mission 
on  which  she  had  come  when  a  clerk  announced  that  the  com- 
mittee was  there. 

"  I  said  that  I  would  meet  them  at  a  quarter-past  ten  this 
morning,"  Mr.  Holt  said  to  his  daughter,  "  and  it  is  five-and- 
twenty  minutes  past  now.  Show  them  in  !"  addressing  the 
clerk.  And  then  to  his  daughter  again,  "  Would  you  like  to 
hear  what  they  have  to  say  ?  If  so,  go  in  there,"  pointing 
to  the  door  of  another  room,  "  and  leave  the  door  ajar.  The 
other  door  into  the  hall  is  open,  and  you  can  step  out  when- 
ever you  are  tired." 

She  kissed  him  hurriedly,  and  without  a  word  went  into 
the  room  which  he  had  indicated.  She  had  hardly  pulled 
the  door  to  behind  her,  leaving  it  an  inch  or  two  open,  when 
the  committee  entered,  seven  in  number.  They  came  in,  tread- 
ing on  each  other's  heels,  and  with  a  curious  mixture  of  bash- 
fulness  and  defiance  in  their  manner. 

"  Come  in,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Holt,  advancing  and  shak- 
ing hands  with  each,  "  and  be  seated,  please." 

Chairs  enough   had   been   placed  in  the  room  in  anticipa- 


LOOKING    INTO   THE    GULF  103 

tion  of  their  coming,  and  they  had  soon  arranged  themselves, 
each  sitting  stiffly,  holding  his  hat  in  his  lap.  A  stenog- 
rapher also  entered,  and  took  his  seat  at  a  table  in  one  corner 
of  the  room. 

"  Now,  gentlemen,"  Mr.  Holt  began,  "  before  we  proceed  to 
business,  let  me  know  exactly  with  whom  it  is  that  I  am  deal- 
ing.    Whom  do  you  represent  ?" 

It  was  Wollmer  who  replied. 

"  We  are  a  joint  committee  representing  the  employes  of 
the  Western  Iron  and  Steel  Company  and  the  street-railway 
company — all  classes  of  the  employes  of  both  companies." 

"  And  to  begin  with,  Mr.  Wollmer,"  for  Mr.  Holt  knew 
W^ollmer  well,  "  which  do  you  personally  represent  ?" 

"  I  represent  both.     I  am  committeeman-at-large." 

"  But  of  which  company  are  you  an  employe  ?" 

"  Neither,"  said  Wollmer,  uneasily  ;  "  I  represent  the  organ- 
izations." 

"  Then  I  am  afraid  I  must  decline  to  talk  with  you,"  said 
Mr.  Holt,  firmly,  but  courteously.  "  I  can  recognize  nobody 
in  these  negotiations  but  the  employes  of  the  companies." 

"  You  decline  to  recognize  the  organizations?" 

"  I  do." 

"  You  know  that  that  is  one  of  the  questions  now  at  issue, 
and  that  the  organizations  propose  to  insist  on  recognition  ?" 
asked  Wollmer,  threateningly. 

"  I  have  gathered  as  much,"  replied  the  other.  "  But  I 
have  no  intention,  on  behalf  of  the  companies,  of  conceding 
the  whole  question  by  recognizing  the  organizations  through 
you  in  advance."  After  a  moment's  pause,  Mr.  Holt  contin- 
ued :  "  I  have  no  objection  to  your  remaining  in  my  office, 
Mr.  Wollmer,  if  these  gentlemen  desire  it,  as  a  spectator,  but 
I  must  respectfully  decline  to  allow  you  to  take  any  part  in  the 
negotiations." 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  Wollmer,  endeavoring  to  speak  calmly, 
"  that  you  are  taking  the  right  course  to  reach  a  settlement, 
Mr.  Holt." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  Mr.  Holt  replied,  curtly ;  "  but  I  am  protect- 
ing, to  the  best  of  my  ability,  the  interests  of  the  companies 
which  I  represent.    And  now,  gentlemen,"  addressing  the  others 


104  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

with  a  business-like  air,  "  I  understand  that  you  six  are  all  em- 
ployes of  one  or  other  of  the  companies.  If  you  will  permit 
me  to  suggest  it,  I  think  it  will  be  better — indeed,  I  presume 
it  is  what  you  would  propose — that  we  should  take  up  the  af- 
fairs of  one  company  first.  If  it  is  agreeable  to  you,  we  will 
give  the  iron-and-steel  company  preference.  If  you  will  ar- 
range yourselves,  gentlemen,  so  that  the  representatives  of  the 
iron-and-steel  company  sit  together,  we  can  confer  in  regard 
to  the  interests  of  that  company.  It  may  even  be  better  when 
that  is  concluded  to  postpone  the  conference  with  the  employes 
of  the  street-railway  company  until  another  day,  in  order  that 
we  may  think  over  the  situation  carefully." 

In  accordance  with  his  suggestion  there  was  a  shifting  of 
seats,  until  Mr.  Holt,  who  knew  all  the  men  present  by  sight 
well  enough,  saw  that  the  three  representatives  of  the  iron-and- 
steel  company — Henderson,  Riley,  and  Smith — were  together, 
Henderson  sitting  next  to  Wollmer,  who  had  retained  his  place 
at  one  end  of  the  row.  It  was  to  Henderson  in  particular, 
though  his  glance  also  took  in  the  other  two,  that  Mr.  Holt  now 
addressed  himself. 

"  You  have  come,  I  believe,  gentlemen,  as  a  properly  accred- 
ited committee  of  the  employes  in  the  shops  of  the  Western 
Iron  and  Steel  Company,"  he  said,  "  to  protest  against  the  new 
scale  of  wages." 

Henderson  bowed. 

"  On  what  grounds  do  you  protest  against  it?" 

"Because  the  wages  proposed  are  less  by  about  fifteen  per 
cent,  than  the  union  schedules.  The  agreement  under  which 
we  are  working  now  is  based  upon  those  schedules — " 

"  Not  ostensibly,  I  believe,"  interrupted  Mr.  Holt.  "  There 
is  no  reference  to  the  union  in  the  agreement.  And  I  think 
you  are  aware,  Mr.  Henderson,  that  the  company  and  myself 
have  always  consistently  declined  to  recognize  the  union  or  any 
of  its  rules  or  schedules  in  any  way." 

"  We  consider  that  immaterial,"  replied  Henderson,  "  so  far 
as  the  wages  are  concerned.  We  do  demand  recognition  of 
the  union  hereafter.  There  was  no  reference  to  the  union 
schedule  in  our  last  agreement,  but  the  wages  were  based  upon 
it—" 


LOOKING    INTO   THE    GULF  105 

"  They  may  have  coincided  with  it,"  suggested  Mr.  Holt. 

"Coincided  with  it,"  agreed  Henderson  ;  "and,  so  far  as  we 
were  concerned,  it  was  the  fact  that  they  coincided  that  caused 
us  to  accept  them.  We  decline  now  individually  and  collec- 
tively to  work  for  less  than  that  schedule."  Here  Wollmer 
leaned  over  and  whispered  something  in  Henderson's  ear,  who, 
thus  prompted,  added,  "  And,  for  the  purpose  of  preventing  any 
similar  attempts  in  the  future  on  the  part  of  the  company  to 
reduce  wages  below  the  scale,  we  demand  that  the  union  shall 
be  recognized,  and  that  it  be  stated  in  the  agreement  that  our 
wages  are  based  on  the  schedule." 

"  And  if  the  company  refuses  to  accede  to  these  demands  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Holt. 

"This  committee  will  have  no  alternative  except  to  recom- 
mend a  strike,"  replied  Henderson. 

"  Let  me  understand  this  clearly,"  said  Mr.  Holt.  "  In  the 
written  statement  of  your  demands,  which  I  have  here,  the  first 
three  articles  are  concerned  with  wages  only.  No  reference  to 
any  organization  is  made  in  them.  The  fourth  article  alone 
demands  the  recognition  of  the  union,  by  itself.  Do  I  under- 
stand that  that  fourth  article  is  an  integral  and  necessary  part 
of  vour  programme?" 

"It  is." 

"That  is  to  say,  that  it  is  perfectly  useless  to  endeavor  to 
come  to  any  understanding  on  the  wage  question — not  that  I 
mean  for  an  instant  to  suggest  that  the  company  could  pos- 
sibly contemplate  any  other  terms  than  those  proposed  in  the 
new  schedule ;  yet  it  would  be  perfectly  useless  to  endeavor  to 
find  any  ground  of  compromise,  as,  whatever  wages  we  might 
offer,  none  would  be  acceptable  unless  we  recognized  your  organ- 
ization I" 

"  The  wages  must  be  based  upon  the  union  schedule." 

"  That  is  not  my  question.  What  I  want  to  know  is — do 
you  absolutely  insist  on  a  recognition  of  the  union,  in  so  many 
words,  as  a  necessary  concession  on  our  part?" 

"We  do." 

There  was  a  general  movement  and  shuffling  of  feet  among 
the  members  of  the  committee — a  movement  as  of  relief  when 
a  crisis  is  reached  and  tension  suddenly  removed.     In  the  next 


106  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

room  Miss  Holt  drew  a  long  breath  and  leaned  forward  again  to 
listen.     Mr.  Holt  threw  himself  back  in  his  chair. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  now  I  think  we  understand 
each  other.  This  is  not  a  question  of  wages,  but  of  the  union. 
I  have  here,"  laying  his  hand  on  some  papers  which  lay  before 
him,  "  a  number  of  extracts  from  our  books,  balance-sheets,  and 
summaries  of  pay-rolls,  which  I  was  prepared  to  go  over  with 
you — not  so  much  with  expectation  of  finding  any  ground  for 
mutual  concession,  but  rather  hoping  to  appeal  to  your  rea- 
son by  showing  you  the  necessity,  the  inexorable  necessity,  of 
our  position.  I  was  prepared  to  discuss  matters  with  you  most 
fully  and  frankly.  But  all  this,  it  appears,  is  useless.  I  may 
say  at  once,  gentlemen,  that  the  Western  Iron  and  Steel  Com- 
pany will  never  do  what  you  demand.  We  will  shut  down  rather, 
and  stay  shut  down  until  the  plant  goes  to  pieces  from  rust  and 
rot.  We  have  placed  no  restrictions  upon  our  men  joining  any 
labor  organization  that  they  pleased ;  but  we  insist  upon  our 
right  to  employ  whom  we  please,  whether  members  of  any  par- 
ticular organization  or  not.  We  will  not  surrender  that  right. 
We  will  not  throw  over  our  non-union  men  whom  we  now  have 
with  us.  We  will  under  no  circumstances  recognize  any  union 
or  order  or  brotherhood  or  organization  or  corporation  as  hav- 
ing any  authority  over  our  employes  as  our  employes  or  any 
right  to  come  between  us  and  them.  AVe  are  always  glad  to 
hear  any  complaint  which  our  men  may  have  to  make ;  we  will 
meet  them  in  a  spirit  of  fairness,  and  will  endeavor  to  remove 
any  reasonable  grievance  which  may  exist.  But  we  will  deal 
with  them  directly.     We  will  not  recognize  the  union." 

The  men  received  what  he  had  to  say  in  silence.  After  wait- 
ing for  them  to  speak,  he  continued : 

"This  seems  to  me  to  end  our  meeting,  unless  you  have  some 
other  alternative  to  suggest." 

"I  know  of  nothing  more,"  said  Henderson. 

"  Well,  let  us  have  no  misunderstanding.  There  is  no  ques- 
tion of  wages  now  at  issue  between  us.  It  is  a  question  of  the 
recognition  of  the  union,  pure  and  simple."  He  looked  at  Hen- 
derson as  if  expecting  a  reply. 

"Yes,"  said  that  gentleman,  reluctantly.  Mr.  Holt  turned 
to  his  stenographer. 


LOOKING   INTO    THE    GULF  107 

"  Watson,  would  you  mind  reading  over  those  last  words  of 
mine  to  these  gentlemen  ?"     Watson  did  so. 

"You  three  gentlemen  all  clearly  understrnd  that?"  Each 
of  the  three  addressed  said  that  he  did. 

"Well,"  continued  Mr.  Holt,  "reporters  of  the  newspapers 
will  undoubtedly  wish  to  talk  to  both  of  us  on  this  subject,  and 
there  is  no  room  now  for  any  divergence  in  our  sentiments. 
The  question  at  issue  is  one  of  the  union  only  —  not  one  of 
wages."     And  he  arose  as  if  to  terminate  the  interview. 

"One  thing  more,"  said  Henderson,  who  had  been  confer- 
ring with  Wollmer  in  whispers  ;  "  will  you  submit  the  matter 
to  arbitration  ?" 

"  To  whose  arbitration  ?"  asked  Mr.  Holt,  who  had  been  ex- 
pecting this  question  before. 

"  Well,  say  to  General  Harter." 

"  No." 

"  On  what  grounds  do  you  refuse  ?" 

"Because  I  do  not  think  General  Harter  would  be  a  fit  man. 
I  wish  to  say  nothing  disparaging  of  him,  but  as  candidate  for 
the  governorship  on  a  party  ticket  he  would  be  incapable  of 
giving  the  case  a  dispassionate  hearing.  It  is  not  General 
Harter  that  I  object  to ;  it  is  the  Democratic  candidate  for 
governor." 

"So  you  decline  to  submit  to  arbitration?"  asked  Hender- 
son. 

"  By  no  means.  If  you  will  select  some  party  who  is  not  a 
candidate  for  office,  I  will  name  somebody  on  my  part.  I  will 
name  one  now.  I  will  name  Judge  Jessel.  Let  those  two  se- 
lect a  third  party,  and  I  am  willing  to  leave  the  question  at  issue 
to  them — either  the  simple  question  of  the  recognition  of  the 
union  or  the  entire  list  of  articles  in  your  demands." 

"  We  cannot  do  that,"  said  Henderson.  "  General  Harter 
has  offered  his  services,  and  it  would  be  discourteous  of  us  to 
refuse  to  stand  by  him." 

Mr.  Holt  smiled.  "  Or  I  will  consent  to  abide  by  the  deci- 
sion of  any  committee  which  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  may 
appoint,  or  the  Board  of  Trade,  or  any  other  association  of 
business  men." 

"  The  business  men  would  side  with  von,"  said  Henderson. 


108  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

"  I  think  they  would,"  returned  Mr.  Holt,  dryly. 

The  men  now  rose,  and  as  they  did  so  Mr.  Holt  said  again  : 

"  Once  more,  let  there  be  no  misunderstanding  between  us. 
I  do  not  decline  to  submit  to  arbitration.  I  only  decline  to 
accept  as  arbiter  any  man  who  is  a  candidate  for  office  on  either 
side  in  the  coming  election.  I  offer  to  accept  arbitration  on  any 
other  reasonable  terms." 

The  men  signified  their  understanding,  and  were  preparing  to 
leave  the  room  when  Mr.  Holt  turned  to  the  three  who  repre- 
sented the  street-railway  company. 

"  Gentlemen,  you  have  heard  the  position  which  your  friends 
have  adopted  on  behalf  of  the  iron-and-steel  company's  em- 
ployes. I  suggested  at  the  beginning  of  the  meeting  that  it 
might  be  well  for  us  to  postpone  our  conference  until  another 
day.  If  it  is  agreeable  to  you,  I  shall  be  pleased  to  meet  you 
at  the  same  time  to-morrow  here.  Meanwhile,  I  hope  you  will 
think  the  matter  over  clearly  in  your  minds.  Your  demands 
are  much  the  same  as  those  of  the  employes  of  the  iron-and- 
steel  company.  With  you,  also,  there  is  a  question  of  wages, 
and  there  is  a  question  of  recognizing  your  union.  I  may  say 
here  now  that,  on  the  question  of  the  labor  organizations,  the 
attitude  of  the  two  companies  is  the  same.  I  want  you  three, 
between  now  and  to-morrow,  to  consider  your  own  interests 
carefully  and  those  of  your  families,  so  that  you  may  not  come, 
if  it  is  possible  to  avoid  it,  with  the  door  already  shut  against 
any  possibility  of  compromise,  as  it  has  been  shut  to-day." 

The  men  accepted  what  he  said  in  sullen  silence,  and  turned 
to  leave  the  room.  During  the  continuance  of  the  conference 
Wollmer  had  with  difficulty  restrained  himself  on  several  occa- 
sions from  breaking  in.  Now  that  the  formal  meeting  was 
over,  he  could  refrain  no  longer. 

"  It's  all  very  well  for  you,  Mr.  Holt,"  he  said,  hotly ;  "you 
are  rich  and  powerful,  and  think  you  can  trample  on  the  labor- 
ing man  as  you  please.  It  is  no  question  of  a  livelihood  with 
you.  With  these  men — with  us — it  is ;  and  we  may  be  weak 
and  poor  singly,  but  you  may  be  sorry  that  you  made  an  enemy  of 
labor  yet  before  you've  done.  You  have  everything  you  want. 
Your  daughter  has  her  carriages,  and  all  the  dresses,  and — " 
"  Silence,  sir !"  broke  in  Mr.  Holt,  authoritatively.     "  I  forbid 


LOOKING   INTO   THE    GULF  109 

you  to  say  one  word  about  ray  daughter  or  my  domestic  affairs. 
I  am  meeting  these  gentlemen  (not  you)  in  behalf  of  the  two 
companies,  and  not  in  my  individual  capacity.  I  do  not  mind 
telling  you  that  for  the  two  years  in  which  I  have  been  presi- 
dent of  one  of  them,  and  that  for  the  three  years  that  I  have 
been  president  of  the  other,  I  have  received  no  cent  of  salary 
from  either.  I  have  large  sums  of  money  invested  in  both,  on 
which  as  yet  I  have  received  no  return.  If  I  have  an  income 
from  other  sources,  I  earned  that  income  myself,  and  it  is  a 
matter  which  in  no  way  concerns  either  you  or  these  gentle- 
men." 

Wollmer  made  no  reply,  but  followed  the  others  out  of  the 
room  with  a  swaggering  gait.  Mr.  Holt  made  a  sign  to  the 
stenographer  that  he  would  not  be  needed  any  more.  As  soon 
as  the  door  was  shut  behind  them,  Jessie  came  from  her  hid- 
ing-place with  blanched  face. 

"Oh,  papa  !"  she  sobbed,  falling  on  her  knees  at  her  father's 
feet,  and  laying  her  face  in  his  lap,  "  can  I  do  anything  to 
help  ?  Is  it  true  that  if  I  didn't  have  a  carriage  and  so  many 
dresses — " 

"  Hush,  my  child  !  No,"  said  her  father,  tenderly,  patting 
her  on  the  shoulder ;  "  it  makes  no  kind  of  difference,  and  it 
was  only  that  fellow's  insolence." 

"  Oh !  but  I  spend  so  much !  If  I  didn't,  and  we  econo- 
mized on  our  household  expenses — not  to  interfere  with  your 
comfort,  you  know,  papa,  but  just  luxuries — we  could  save 
twenty  thousand  dollars  a  year  so  easily  !" 

"  And  how  would  we  save  it,  ray  darling  ?  We  should  have 
to  cut  off  a  good  many  contributions  to  charity.  We  should 
have  to  discharge  two  or  three  house-servants  and  at  least  one 
man  from  the  stable.  Would  that  do  any  good — throwing 
them  out  of  work?  And  all  the  money  that  you  spend,  my 
child,  goes  to  labor  in  one  way  or  another.  It  is  not  wasted. 
And  if  you  did  save  twenty  thousand  dollars  a  year  ?  That 
would  be  less  than  fifty  cents  a  month  divided  equally  among 
all  the  men.  The  question  of  wages  is  one  of  three  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year.  Twenty  thousand  dollars  are 
of  no  use,  even  if  it  were  possible  for  me  to  give  my  private 
income  to  pay  the  companies'  employes.     The  money  is  better 


HO  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

spent — better  so  far  as  the  interests  of  the  poor  are  concerned 
— as  we  spend  it  now  than  it  could  be  in  any  other  way." 

She  rose  from  her  knees,  and  laid  her  face  against  his  for  a 
minute;  then  moved  to  the  window,  where  she  stood  and  wiped 
away  the  tears  that  ran  down  her  checks. 

Mr.  Holt  also  rose,  and,  standing  beside  her,  put  his  arm 
round  her  waist. 

"They  always  try  to  make  capital,"  he  said,  "by  attacking 
the  individual  who  may  be  rich,  no  matter  how  hardly  he 
earned  his  money  or  how  he  spends  it.  But  it  is  not  a  ques- 
tion of  individuals  ;  it  is  not  a  question  of  you  or  of  me.  It 
is  a  question  of  one-half  of  mankind  against  the  other  half ; 
a  question  of  all  countries  and  all  ages." 

She  remembered  how  Horace  Marsh  had  said  the  same 
thino-  to  her  a  week  ago  in  almost  the  same  words.  She  did 
not  reply,  but  stood  silent  for  a  while  longer ;  then,  turning  to 
her  father,  she  took  his  face  between  her  hands. 

"And  I  only  make  it  harder  for  you,  don't  I,  you  dear  old 
papa,"  she  said,  "with  my  tears  and  silliness?  But  I  don't 
want  to!  I  am  not  crying  now,  and  I  am  going  right  away, 
in  one  of  my  very  most  expensive  dresses  "  (it  was  a  charming 
black  tailor  suit)  "and  the  carriage  waiting  for  me  at  the 
door,"  and  she  ran  laughingly  to  the  door,  and  threw  him  a  kiss 
as  she  went. 

As  she  appeared  on  the  sidewalk  below,  the  carriage,  which 
had  been  waiting  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  crossed 
over,  and  she  told  the  coachman  to  drive  her  home.  Inside  the 
brougham  she  lifted  her  veil  again  and  wiped  away  the  later 
tears,  which  were  still  wet  upon  her  checks.  One  of  the  most 
tender-hearted  of  women,  she  had  all  her  life  suffered  intensely 
at  the  sight  or  even  the  thought  of  the  misery  of  others.  No 
inconsiderable  portion  of  her  time  as  well  as  of  her  income  was 
spent  in  works  of  charity,  and  a  day  rarely  passed  in  which  she 
did  not  drive  to  some  poor  house  to  relieve  distress,  knowledge 
of  which  had  come  to  her  through  one  channel  or  another. 
Of  the  labor  question  she  had  thought  but  dimly  until  recent- 
ly, and  then  only  as  some  remote  and  uninteresting  abstraction 
— much  as, she  thought  of  the  Tariff,  or  the  Bering  Sea  contro- 
versy, or  the  Irish  question.  Of  late,  when  this  remote  abstrac- 


LOOKING    INTO    THE    GULF  111 

tion  bad  suddenly  seemed  to  become  concrete  and  near  at  band 
— so  as  to  be  threatening  tbe  very  peace  of  her  own  home — the 
aspect  of  it  which  chiefly  struck  and  pained  her  was  the  appar- 
ent unreasonableness  of  the  men.  Surely  they  knew,  as  she 
had  said  at  the  dinner-table,  that  she  or  her  father  would  do 
anything  they  could  to  help  them  !  What,  then,  did  they  want? 
The  impossible  ?  It  had  seemed  to  her  that  it  must  be  that  they 
did  not  understand.  They  must  be  under  some  absurd  misap- 
prehension— a  misapprehension  which  could  be  reasoned  out 
of  them.  Now  for  the  first  time  some  definite  recognition 
of  the  immensity  and  reality  of  the  terrible  problem  came  to 
her.  It  seemed  as  if  a  great  cloud  had  settled  over  the  earth, 
and  beneath  it  opened  an  abyss,  black  and  fathomless,  full  of 
writhing,  struggling  men  and  women — "  one-half  of  mankind 
against  the  other  half." 

Heretofore  the  men  at  the  works  and  the  employes  of  the 
street-railway  company  had  seemed  her  friends  —  there  were 
good  men  and  bad  among  them,  she  knew  ;  but  she  felt  kindly 
to  all,  and  had  assumed  it  as  granted  that  they  felt  kindly  to  her. 
Could  it  be  that  they  were  her  enemies — that  they  sneered  at 
her  dresses  and  her  carriage  as  she  passed  ?  And  she  sank  back 
into  the  shadow  of  the  brougham  as  she  thought  of  it.  Could 
it  be  possible  that  these  men  hated  her  ?  And  she  remembered 
what  Horace  had  said  about  the  French  revolution,  and  shud- 
dered—not with  physical  fear  for  herself,  but  in  mere  horror  at 
this  new  aspect  in  which  the  world  appeared  to  her. 

She  remembered  now  how  as  a  child  the  knowledge  of  death 
had  first  come  to  her.  It  was  only  a  dog  that  died — a  poor, 
silken -haired,  bright -eyed  terrier  which  she  had  loved  very 
dearly  ;  for  there  is  a  golden  age  in  childhood,  when  beasts  and 
men  speak  one  another's  language  and  are  of  kin.  They  had 
told  her  that  Gyp  was  dead  —  dead  forever;  and  this  new, 
strange  word  made  her  heart  stand  still.  She  had  watched  in 
tearless  silence  while  they  buried  the  poor  thing  beneath  a  lilac- 
bush  ;  then  she  had  crept  away  by  herself  and  cried — cried  as 
she  had  never  cried  before,  till  her  mother  came  and  found  her, 
her  little  body  convulsed  and  weak  with  sobbing.  For  some 
days  she  crept  forlornly  about  the  house — so  silent  now  that 
Gyp  was  gone  —  and  would  not  play,  but  only  sit  and  think. 


112  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

Her  father  bought  another  dog;  but  it  was  not  Gyp.  Then 
as  she  sat  on  the  floor  by  her  father's  side  while  he  was  read- 
ing the  paper,  she  had  looked  up  suddenly  and  asked  : 

"Haven't  you  got  a  papa,  papa?" 

"  Not  now,  Jess,"  he  replied  ;  "  he  was  your  grandpa." 

"  Where  is  he  now  ?" 

"  He  is  dead." 

"  Dead "  again  !  So  papas  died  and  dogs  died  and  roses 
died — died  forever  !  She  told  her  dolls  of  it,  and  they  cried 
over  it  together.  It  terrified  her  to  have  the  gas  turned  out, 
not  for  fear  of  the  dark,  but  because  the  light  had  "  gone 
dead ;"  and  she  watched  the  birds  as  they  flew,  and  feared  lest 
they  should  die  as  she  watched. 

..."  The  woful  cry 
Of  life  and  all  flesh  living  cometh  up 
Into  my  ears,  and  all  my  soul  is  full 
Of  pity  for  the  sickness  of  this  world." 

Then  she  had  fallen  ill,  and  lay  through  the  long  days  and 
nights  in  the  hush  of  the  darkened  room,  her  little  face  hot 
and  flushed  with  fever,  and  had  talked  incessantly  in  her 
delirium  of  Gyp  and  of  grandpa  and  of  dead  flowers.  Her 
mother  had  taken  her  away  "  into  the  country,"  where  slowly 
she  had  grown  well  again,  and  her  thin  arms  and  wasted  body 
became  plump  and  firm.  But  the  thought  of  death  stayed 
with  her.  Her  parents  said  that  her  illness  had  changed  her 
wonderfully ;  that  she  had  become,  instead  of  the  bubbling, 
prattling  child  that  she  had  been  before,  rather  melancholy  and 
reserved.  But  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  world  had  changed, 
and  that  sunlight  had  gone  out  of  it. 

The  second  great  disillusion  which  we  must  all  suffer,  the 
knowledge  of  evil  in  the  world,  had  come  to  her  gradually. 
She  had  pondered  over  it  by  herself,  and  had  asked  many 
questions  not  a  little  perplexing  to  answer.  But  she  had 
taken  refuge  in  her  faith  in  God — a  faith  which  she  had  never 
lost — the  perfect  faith  which  is  given  to  many  women,  but  to 
which  few  men  in  these  days  can  attain. 

Now,  without  the  physical  shattering  which  the  knowledge 
of  death  had  brought  to  her  as  a  child,  she  seemed  to  feel  the 


LOOKING    INTO   THE    GULF  113 

same  dull  terror.  There  was  the  same  darkening  of  the  world. 
It  was  not  only  death,  but  "  the  spirit  of  murder  working  in 
the  very  means  of  life  "  : — 

...   "So  the  fair  show 
Veiled  one  vast,  savage,  grim  conspiracy 
Of  mutual  murder." 

When  nearing  home  the  carriage  met  one  of  the  electric 
street-cars,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  engineer  (or  motor- 
neer — she  hated  the  word)  eyed  the  carriage  and  her  askance, 
and  with  a  look  of  suspicion  and  dislike  that  she  had  not  seen 
before.  She  turned  her  face  away,  and  would  not  look  at  the 
conductor  on  the  rear  platform  of  the  car  as  it  passed. 

At  lunch  she  was  absent-minded  and  silent,  so  that  Miss  Wil- 
lerby  wondered  what  could  have  happened  since  the  morning 
to  change  her  so,  while  Miss  Caley  (who  had  received  an  im- 
mense box  of  candies  from  Barry)  prattled  and  laughed,  and 
talked  childish  nonsense. 

After  lunch  the  three  went  for  a  walk  together,  and  when 
they  returned  Mr.  Barry  called  and  hung  over  the  piano  while 
Miss  Caley,  after  much  urging,  played  to  him,  and  looked  un- 
utterable things  out  of  her  eyes.  With  the  five- o'clock  tea 
came  the  evening  paper,  and  Miss  Holt  read  the  account  of  the 
morning's  conference.  It  was  a  Republican  paper,  and  the  re- 
port of  what  had  occurred  was  fairly  accurate.  A  strike,  so 
the  paper  said,  was  now  inevitable.  It  would  probably  be  de- 
clared early  in  the  following  week. 

Jessie  dressed  for  dinner  listlessly,  and  with  no  pleasurable  an- 
ticipation of  the  evening's  entertainment.  She  wished  that  they 
were  not  going.  She  knew  how  worried  her  father  must  be, 
withal  that  he  kept  such  a  brave  and  smiling  face  at  the  din- 
ner-table, and  she  would  much  rather  have  stayed  at  home  that 
evening,  and  tried  to  pet  and  comfort  him.  But  she  took  a 
long  and  very  tender  farewell  of  him,  and  they  drove  to  the 
theatre. 

In  the  foyer  they  were  met  by  Mr.  Brace,  and  found  the 
rest  of  the  party  gathered  about  the  ladies'  dressing-room.  All 
had  arrived  except  Mr.  Blakely,  who  came  a  minute  later,  and 
then  they  made  their  way  in  single  file  to  the  boxes,  with  much 


114  MEN    BORN   EQUAL. 

rustling  of  skirts  and  the  usual  difficulty  in  being  allotted  to 
their  respective  seats,  during  which  the  eyes  of  the  whole  house 
were  fixed  upon  them. 

Miss  Holt  found  that  Blakely  was  assigned  to  the  seat  next 
to  her,  at  her  right  shoulder.  In  front  of  her  sat  Miss  Wil- 
lerby,  with  Pryce,  the  Englishman,  as  cavalier.  Behind  her 
was  Mrs.  Tisserton,  with  the  "  dear,  inoffensive  creature,"  their 
host.  They  were  in  the  same  box  that  Miss  Holt  had  occupied 
on  that  night  when  she  had  first  seen  him  here,  the  other  two 
boxes  between  them  and  the  stage  being  occupied  by  the  rest 
of  the  party,  Miss  Caley  being  placed  in  immediate  contiguity 
to  the  footlights,  where  she  sat  charmingly  conscious  that  she 
was  the  most  conspicuous  person  in  the  house. 

It  seemed  to  Jessie,  with  some  feeling  of  wonderment,  that 
she  was  very  little  moved  by  Blakely's  proximity.  Even  when 
he  said,  meaningly  : 

"  I  have  seen  you  in  this  box  before,"  she  had  only  replied, 
with  perfect  simplicity : 

"  Yes,  I  remember." 

He,  too,  was  conscious  of  the  change.  Somehow,  he  felt,  she 
was  further  away  from  him  ;  something  had  come  between 
them  since  last  night,  and  he  wondered  what  it  might  be. 
Could  she  have  heard  anything  against  him?  Had  Marsh  told 
her  anything  after  he  himself  had  left  ?  But  what  had  Marsh 
to  tell?  He  was  very  attentive  to  her,  in  all  those  small  ways 
for  which  companionship  at  the  theatre  gives  opportunity. 
He  had  helped  her  in  taking  off  her  wrap,  and  even  ventured 
to  touch,  under  pretence  of  arranging,  the  light  black  lace  scarf 
which  she  kept  over  her  shoulders.  He  held  her  opera-glasses, 
ready  to  offer  them  whenever  a  new  character  came  on  the 
stage.  He  folded  her  programme,  and  was  solicitous  as  to  the 
position  of  her  chair.  There  was  devotion  in  his  every  move- 
ment ;  but  she  was  unresponsive  and  inaccessible.  So  he  sat 
back  and  chewed  his  mustache,  and,  while  watching  her  out 
of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  affected  to  be  engrossed  in  the  music. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  act  the  occupants  of  the  boxes 
clapped,  and  Blakely  joined  in  in  a  polite,  perfunctory  way  as 
he  leaned  over  and  made  a  commonplace  remark  about  the 
music.     She  answered  briefly,  and  turned  to  look  over  the  au- 


LOOKING    INTO    THE    GULF  115 

dience.  A  question  from  Mr.  Brace  was  answered  in  a  mono- 
syllable, and  with  a  forced  smile  upon  her  face.  Then  she 
settled  in  her  seat,  and  gazed  absently  at  the  drop-scene.  Think- 
ing it  best  to  let  her  have  her  way,  he  remained  silent.  Pres- 
ently she  turned  to  him. 

"  Do  you  know  much  about  the  labor  question,  Mr.  Blake- 
ly  ?"  she  asked. 

The  question  startled  him. 

"  I  do  not  know  much  about  anything,"  he  replied,  modest- 
ly ;  "  but  we  all  have  to  know  something  of  the  labor  question. 
I  understand  that  your  father  is  likely  to  have  a  strike  on  his 
hands — and  an  ugly  one,  I  fear.  We  had  a  strike  once  (my 
father  has  some  cotton-mills  back  East,  you  know),  and  it  was 
not  a  pleasant  experience." 

"  What  did  you  do  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  we  beat  them.  They  stood  out  as  long  as  they  could, 
but  their  wives  and  families  were  starving,  and  the  fools  had 
to  give  in.  They  did  some  rioting,  threatened  my  father's  life, 
and  destroyed  some  of  his  property,  and  all  that.  Some  of 
them — six,  I  think — went  to  jail  for  it." 

There  was  a  hardness  and  lack  of  sympathy  in  his  tone  that 
hurt  her.  He  smiled  as  he  spoke.  There  was  no  thought  for 
the  misery  of  the  wives  and  children  who  had  been  starving, 
or  for  the  wives  and  children  of  those  who  went  to  jail.  The 
wickedness,  the  inhumanity  of  it  all  evidently  did  not  appeal 
to  him.  It  was  a  necessary  condition  of  society.  These  men 
were  enemies,  that  was  all ;  and  they  must  be  beaten,  and 
starved  and  jailed. 

At  this  moment  Miss  Willerby  leaned  back  and  said,  in  a 
half-whisper  : 

"  Don't  you  wish  you  could  hear  what  Mr.  Marsh  is  saying 
now?" 

It  may  have  been  only  by  accident  that  the  suggestion  came 
at  that  moment,  or  it  may  have  been  that  she  had  heard 
Blakely's  words,  and  guessed  their  effect  on  his  auditress.  But 
however  that  may  be,  her  words  had  their  effect.  Jessie's 
thoughts  turned  to  Marsh  —  he,  at  least,  had  sympathy  with 
the  "voiceless  millions"  in  their  misery.  To  him  it  was  not 
merel3r  a  necessary  and  inevitable  warfare,  this  between  capital 


116  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

and  labor.  He  believed  it  to  be  reconcilable,  and  was  devoting 
his  life's  work  to  endeavoring  to  bring  about  a  reconciliation. 
Yes,  she  thought,  as  the  curtain  rose  again,  she  would  give 
much  to  hear  what  he  was  saying,  and  still  more,  she  thought, 
to  have  him  here  by  her  to  talk  to  him  and  hear  him  talk. 

After  the  second  act  there  was  a  general  shifting  of  places 
among  the  men  of  the  party.  Blakely's  seat  was  taken  by  an 
insipid,  fair -haired  youth  of  the  name  of  Baldwin,  who  dis- 
played a  great  quantity  of  white  shirt-front,  white  vest,  white 
collar  and  cuffs,  whom  Jessie  knew  but  slightly  and  was  com- 
pelled to  some  extent  to  entertain.  Blakely  she  could  see  in 
the  stage-box  talking  to  Miss  Caley,  who  chattered  effusively 
to  him  with  rather  exaggerated  gestures — for  the  benefit  of  the 
house. 

At  supper  at  Mr.  Brace's  house,  after  the  opera,  Miss  Holt 
again  found  Blakely  next  to  her.  The  party  was  a  merry  one, 
seated  at  two  round  tables,  nine  to  each,  between  which  laugh- 
ing badinage  passed  back  and  forth.  She  continued  to  appear 
light  -  hearted  with  the  rest,  and  parried  every  effort  of  her 
neighbor  to  bring  the  conversation  between  them  down  to  a 
personal  footing.  She  could  not  but  be  aware  that  he  was 
looking  unusually  handsome  even  for  him,  and  more  than 
once,  on  meeting  his  eyes,  she  was  compelled  to  avoid  their 
glance  with  something  of  the  old  feeling  of  fear.  On  the  whole, 
however,  she  was  conscious  of  greater  security  and  more  self- 
confidence  than  she  had  felt  in  his  company  from  the  time  of 
their  first  meeting ;  and  it  was  with  a  certain  placid  satisfac- 
tion that  she  noticed  his  look  of  disappointment  as  she  re- 
plied with  genuine  indifference  to  his  impressive  "Good-night," 
into  which  he  threw  all  the  depth  of  meaning  of  which  his 
voice  was  capable. 


X 

THE    POWER    OF  THE    PRESS 

As  Horace  conjectured,  there  would,  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, have  been  little  chance  that  Jessie  Holt  would  see  the 
morning  World.  But  though  the  Republican  journals  furnished 
the  usual  reading  both  of  Mr.  Holt  and  his  daughter,  all  the 
local  daily  papers  were  received  at  the  house.  This  morning, 
with  the  impression  of  the  events  of  the  preceding  day  still 
upon  her,  Miss  Holt  looked  eagerly  over  the  columns  of  the 
Republican  for  a  report  of  Horace's  speech,  and  finally  found 
a  three -line  item  in  an  out-of-the-way  corner  of  the  paper, 
which  merely  mentioned  the  fact  that  he  had  spoken,  and  had 
"entertained  his  audience  with  the  usual  Democratic  sophis- 
tries." So  she  went  to  her  father's  library  for  a  copy  of  the 
World,  and,  finding  here  the  fuller  article,  settled  herself  in  a 
corner  to  read  it. 

Lacking  the  necessary  experience  to  fill  out  the  skeleton  of 
the  reporter's  abstract,  she  could  only  gather  that  the  speech 
had  been  a  dignified  appeal  in  behalf  of  high  principles  and 
sound  morality.  The  newspaper  summary,  however,  fell  far 
short  of  satisfying  her,  and  she  wished  that  she  could  have 
heard  him,  or  that  she  might  inveigle  him  into  going  over  the 
ground  again  at  a  private  performance  for  her  benefit.  She 
had  stopped  reading  at  the  point  where  Horace  had  closed 
his  remarks  amid  enthusiastic  applause.  Resuming  again,  she 
went  on  : 

"  As  soon  as  Chairman  Dallas  could  make  himself  heard,  he 
moved  a  vote  of  thanks  to  the  orator  of  the  occasion  in  a  short 
speech,  in  the  course  of  which  he  said  .  .  ." 

She  read  on  unsuspectingly.  Then  her  cheeks  began  to 
burn.     When  she  reached  the  end  of  the  article  she  drew  a 


118  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

long  breath  and  sat  gazing  dazedly  before  her.  She  did  not 
for  a  moment  do  Horace  the  injustice  to  believe  he  had  said 
the  things  which  seemed  to  be  imputed  to  him.  Without  stop- 
ping to  consider  how  such  a  misrepresentation  could  have  oc- 
curred, her  woman's  instinct  told  her  that  there  was  an  error 
somewhere.  But  he  had  sat  there  and  heard  this  other  man 
speak  !  He  had  not  protested  against  it !  He  had  acquiesced 
in  it! 

After  a  while  she  began  aimlessly  to  turn  over  the  pages  of 
the  paper  in  her  hands.  As  she  did  so  her  eye  again  caught 
Horace  Marsh's  name  in  the  middle  of  one  of  the  editorial  col- 
umns. She  read  a  few  lines,  and  then  went  back  to  the  begin- 
ning of  the  article  and  read  it  steadily  through. 

When  she  had  finished  reading  she  was  faint  and  sick  at 
heart,  and,  passing  her  hand  over  her  forehead,  found  it  damp 
with  a  cold  moisture.  So  he  had  said  it !  He  had  said  it  all, 
and  more  !  He  had  "  scathingly  denounced,"  so  the  paper  said, 
"the  arrogance  and  inhumanity  of  those  who  are  seeking  to 
trample  on  the  rights  of  free  men,  and  degrade  them  to  the 
level  of  the  pauper  laborers  of  Europe."  That  meant  her  fa- 
ther. Since  yesterday  afternoon  it  had  seemed  to  her  that 
Marsh  was  the  one  man  whom  she  longed  to  talk  to,  the  one 
human  being  who  might  be  able  to  help  her.  He  understood 
these  things — not  only  understood  them,  but  was  setting  him- 
self resolutely  to  face  them  with  courage  and,  what  was  more, 
with  hope.  It  was  hope  that  she  needed.  If  she  could  only 
meet  him,  she  had  thought,  he  would  be  able  to  show  her 
where  there  was  a  ray  of  light  in  the  darkness. 

And  now !  How  could  he  come  to  their  house  as  he  had 
done  ?  How  could  he  sit  at  her  father's  table  ?  The  thought 
of  it  was  intolerable.  She  would  say  that  it  was  impossible 
but  that  here  was  the  cold,  hard  type  before  her  eyes.  She 
read  the  article  once  more,  and  was  sitting  still  staring  at  the 
paper  when  Thomas,  the  butler,  came  to  ask  for  the  day's 
orders.  She  would  be  there  in  a  minute,  she  said.  Then  she 
rose,  and  tore  the  paper,  slowly  and  mechanically,  into  small 
pieces,  and  threw  them  into  the  waste-basket. 

It  was  not  until  two  hours  later  that  Horace  read  the  same 


THE    POWER    OF   THE    PRESS  119 

article  on  the  train.  He  was  still  chafing  at  it  when  lie  reached 
bis  office  that  afternoon. 

"  Anything  special  happened,  Franklin,  while  I  have  been 
gone  ?"  he  asked  of  the  clerk. 

"  No,  sir,  I  think  not." 

Entering  his  own  office,  Marsh  took  off  his  hat  and  overcoat, 
and,  after  a  glance  at  the  envelopes  which  were  awaiting  him, 
went  straight  into  his  partner's  room,  the  door  of  which  stood 
open.  The  General  was  sitting  at  his  desk,  but  rose  to  greet 
the  young  man  cordially  as  he  came  in. 

"  Well,  I  congratulate  you,"  he  said  ;  "  you  must  have  done 
well — remarkably  well,  by  all  accounts." 

"  They  seemed  to  like  it,"  Horace  replied ;  "  but  have  you 
seen  that  cursed  article  in  the  World?" 

"  What  article  ?"  asked  his  partner,  uneasily. 

Marsh  picked  up  a  copy  of  the  paper  which  was  lying  on  the 
table — open  at  the  editorial  page,  curiously  enough,  and  folded 
so  that  the  very  article  in  question  was  uppermost. 

"This  thing,"  he  said,  slapping  it  contemptuously  with  the 
back  of  his  hand,  and  handing  it  to  his  partner.  That  gentle- 
man began  in  apparent  innocence  the  supererogatory  task  of 
reading  the  article  again  ;  for  not  only  had  he  read  it  more 
than  once  himself,  but  it  had  been  approvingly  discussed  in 
his  office  by  a  large  number  of  leading  Democrats  during  the 
day. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of  sudden  recollection,  after 
reading  a  few  lines,  "I  saw  that  this  morning.  These  papers 
are  always  making  clumsy  mistakes.  Of  course,  you  did  not 
say  anything  of  the  kind  I" 

"  Why,  I  never  mentioned  labor  matters !  If  I  had  men- 
tioned them,  it  would  have  been  in  a  different  strain  to  this  stuff 
here.  In  the  first  place,  Mr.  Holt  is  my  friend.  In  the  second 
place,  I  believe  he  is  right  in  this  matter.  He  is  a  gentleman, 
and  a  man  to  be  trusted  and  honored,  while  Wollmer  and  his 
gang — "  Horace  checked  himself  before  putting  his  opinion 
of  the  parties  in  question  into  language  which  would  have 
been  somewhat  too  forceful  to  be  courteous,  considering  the 
General's  intimacy  with  the  labor  leader. 

"It  is  an  unfortunate   mistake,"  said  the   General,   sooth- 


120  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

ingly ;  "  but  there  is  no  great  harm  done,  and  it  can  be 
corrected." 

"Yes,"  Marsh  retorted,  little  mollified,  "it  can  be  corrected. 
I  shall  write  to  the  World,  and  go  and  try  to  see  Pawson. 
If  I  don't  see  him,  I  will  see  somebody  up  there." 

The  General  had  wit  enough  not  to  appear  to  oppose  his 
young  partner's  plan  directly. 

"  Well,  if  you  think  best.  But  I  would  not  do  anything 
rash,"  he  said.  "You  know  there  has  been  a  second  meeting 
this  morning  between  Holt  and  the  street  -  railway  men.  It 
ended  the  same  way  as  the  one  did  yesterday,  and  the  strike, 
on  both  companies,  is  now  practically  a  certainty.  Do  you 
think  that  to-morrow  would  be  an  opportune  time  for  saying 
anything  on  the  subject  %  It  seems  to  me,"  and  he  dropped 
into  the  pompous  senatorial  tone  in  which  he  loved  to  deliver 
anything  which  sounded  like  a  noble  sentiment  or  a  maxim  of 
patriotism,  "that  in  moments  of  peril  such  as  this,  it  is  the 
duty — I  may  say,  the  bounden  duty — of  all  good  citizens  to  do 
all  in  their  power  to  allay  public  apprehension,  and  to  refrain 
from  doing  anything  to  excite  ill-feeling." 

"  In  justice  to  myself,  however,  whether  I  am  a  good  citizen 
or  not,  I  have  got  to  have  this  thing  straightened  out." 

Then  an  idea  occurred  to  the  General.  With  all  his  six  feet 
of  stature  and  imposing  presence,  and  in  spite  of  his  public 
prominence  and  conspicuousness  as  a  party  leader,  General 
Harter  was  something  of  a  moral  jelly-fish,  needing  in  crises 
the  support  of  stronger  men.  Once  assured  of  their  backing 
in  private,  however,  there  was  no  one  who  could  present  him- 
self more  effectively  before  the  public,  or  impress  the  mob 
more  successfully  with  an  idea  of  his  independence  of  charac- 
ter. At  this  juncture  he  needed  Sullivan.  If  any  one  could 
smooth  the  ruffled  feathers  of  his  young  partner  and  lure  him 
from  the  flight  which  he  threatened,  it  was  the  big  Irishman. 

"  By-the-bye,  speaking  of  this  morning's  meeting,"  he  said, 
"  that  reminds  me  that  I  promised,  when  the  result  of  the 
meeting  was  known,  to  call  up  Sullivan,  and  let  him  know  when 
I  could  see  him.  I  am  afraid  he  will  be  waiting  to  hear  from 
me." 

He  pressed  a  button,  and  Franklin  entered. 


THE    POWER    OF    THE    TRESS  121 

"I  wish  you  would  telephone  to  the  City  Hall,"  said  the 
General,  "  and  tell  Mr.  Sullivan  that  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him 
right  away  at  this  office." 

A  minute  later  Franklin  returned,  and  said  that  Mr.  Sullivan 
would  come  at  once. 

General  Harter  detained  Marsh  some  time  longer,  asking 
him  questions  about  his  trip,  until  he  judged  that  Sullivan 
might  be  close  at  hand,  and  then  let  him  go.  The  General's 
office  had  two  doors.  As  soon  as  Marsh  closed  one  behind 
him,  the  General  opened  the  other  wide,  and  left  it  standing  so. 
It  led  directly  into  the  hall,  and  the  Irishman  would  pass  it  on 
his  way  from  the  elevator,  and  the  General  did  not  wish  him 
to  come  through  the  outer  office,  where  he  must  meet  Marsh 
before  he  had  seen  him  himself. 

Sullivan  arrived  much  out  of  breath  with  his  hurried  walk, 
and  breathing  stertorously. 

"  Holy  Moses !"  he  grunted,  "  it's  comin'  up  in  the  ele- 
vators that  tires  me  so.  It's  just  the  idea  of  climbin'  does  it. 
All  the  way  up  I  am  thinkin'  of  the  stairs  that  I  might  be 
walkin'  up  if  the  elevator  was  broken  down,  and  the  thinkin' 
of  them  is  as  bad  as  the  walkin'." 

He  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  General's  desk,  and  the  two  held  a 
short  colloquy  in  undertones.     Then  the  Irishman  rose. 

"  Sure  an'  I'll  fix  the  lad !"  he  said,  and  walked  into  Marsh's 
room,  hammering  on  the  door  as  he  did  so  with  the  heavy  gold- 
headed  walking-stick  which  he  always  carried. 

"  How  are  ye,  me  boy  ?"  he  cried,  heartily.  "  So  the  young 
Hannibal  has  crossed  the  Alps  and  back  again  without  so 
much  as  losin'  a  life  or  burstin'  a  button.  An'  ye  struck  'em  in 
fightin'  trim,  too,  I  hear?" 

"  Oh,  I  got  along  all  right,"  Marsh  replied. 

"To  be  course !"  said  the  Irishman.  "  To  be  course  ye  did. 
An'  have  ye  read  the  paper  to  see  what  a  blatherin'  idiot  that 
man  Pawson  has  been  makin'  of  himsilf." 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  Marsh  jerked  out,  discontentedly. 

"  Well,  an'  if  it  isn't  just  like  the  man.  It  isn't  only  that 
he  never  opens  his  own  yawping  mouth  without  puttin'  his 
foot  in  it,  but  he  won't  let  another  man  open  his  without 
wantin'  to  stuff  his  whole  undacent  extremities  in  there  too — 


122  MEN   BOEN   EQUAL 

an'  it's  up  to  the  knee  tbey  go  every  time.  When  I  read  the 
paper  myself  this  mornin',"  he  continued,  unblushingly,  "  I 
says  to  mesilf,  says  I,  '  He  don't  know  the  young  Spartacus  yet,' 
says  I,  'an'  he  couldn't  appraciate  him  if  he  did' — no  more 
than  a  pig  can  appraciate  quails  on  toast.  If  it  wasn't  just  at 
this  time  I  would  advise  ye  to  write  to  the  fool  and  set  him 
straight." 

"  I  have  intended  doing  so,  anyway,"  said  Marsh. 

"  Oh,  but  ye  can't  now,  me  lad,"  and  the  Irishman  shook 
his  big  head  gravely.  "Ye  can  never  do  it  in  the  world. 
The  town's  just  bubblin'  now,  an'  for  the  next  week  it  '11 
be  touch  an'  go  betwixt  peace  and  bloodshed.  There's  only 
one  man  in  this  whole  city  that  may  be  able  to  prevent  a 
strike,  an'  that's  your  own  highly  respected  partner  within 
there.  Ye  saw  that  the  other  night.  The  boys  trust  him — an' 
well  they  may — an'  it's  just  the  chance  there  is  of  his  bein' 
able  now  to  stop  the  trouble.  But  one  word  from  yersilf  on 
the  other  side — bein'  as  ye  are  not  only  the  leadin'  orator  of 
the  Dimicratic  party,  but  his  very  partner  and  colleague — 
one  word  from  yersilf,  and  it's  bloody  war.  It  'Id  be  settin' 
the  torch  to  the  capitol — like  the  geese  themselves.  It's  riot- 
in'  there  'Id  be  inside  of  a  week,  an'  yerself  would  be  respon- 
sible. I'd  pity  the  feelin's  of  ye  when  the  strike  had  come, 
and  there  was  riotin'  and  women  cryin'  and  men  bein'  killed, 
an'  ye  tryin'  to  slape  o'  nights  with  the  weight  of  it  all  on 
your  conscience.  Let  alone  that  ye  'Id  wreck  the  party  and 
blast  yer  own  career — the  purtiest  career,  be  it  said,  in  these 
United  States  to-day." 

"  But  a  lie  has  been  told  about  me !"  Marsh  exclaimed,  as  he 
rose  and  paced  the  room — "  a  lie  which  wrongs  me,  and  must 
be  set  right." 

"  Oh,  pshaw !  An'  how  many  lies  do  ye  think  have  been 
tould  of  Tim  Sullivan  ?  There's  never  a  wake  but  the  Repub- 
lican organs  call  me  a  horse-thief,  which  is  a  lie  an'  a  foolish 
one;  for  what  would  I  be  doin'  with  a  horse,  when  there's  never 
a  baste  that's  been  built  since  the  days  of  Troy  as  could  bear 
the  weight  of  me  ?  An'  the  party  papers  call  me  a  high-minded 
gentleman  and  model  citizen  —  an'  that  lie's  foolisher  yet. 
They've  lied  about  me  both  ways  for  twenty  years,  an'  for  all 


THE    POWER    OF   THE    PRESS  123 

their  lyin'  I've  never  a  friend  or  an  innemy  more  or  less  than 
I've  made  mesilf.  It  was  younger  than  ye  are  now  that  I  was 
when  I  was  on  the  force,  an'  the  papers  accused  me  o'  usin'  my 
club  outrageously  on  inoffensive  citizens,  just  for  all  that  I'd 
hit  a  man  one  when  he  talked  back  on  the  strate  to  me.  It's 
simmerin'  mad  that  I  was  when  I  come  to  the  station  that 
mornin'  and  tould  my  tale  to  the  captain.  An'  the  captain,  he 
just  looked  me  stiddy  in  the  eye,  an'  'Go  aff  to  yer  bate,'  says 
he.  '  But  it's  a  lie !'  says  I.  '  Let  'em  lie,'  says  he.  '  But 
what  '11  I  do  ?'  says  I.  '  Go  aff  to  yer  bate,'  says  he.  '  But 
they've  lied  on  me !'  says  I.  '  Let  'em  lie,'  says  he.  '  But  how 
can  I  stop  it?'  says  I.  'Go  aff  to  yer  bate,'  says  he.  'If  ye 
think  it  '11  help  ye,'  says  he,  'ye  might  soak  yer  head  for  a 
while.'  An'  I've  never  forgotten  the  lesson.  When  they  lie 
on  me  now,  an'  I  feel  the  Irish  blood  of  me  risin',  '  Let  'em 
lie,  Tim  Sullivan,'  says  I,  '  an'  go  aff  to  yer  bate,'  I  says." 

Marsh  laughed  in  spite  of  himself,  and  the  Irishman  fol- 
lowed up  his  advantage. 

"  It's  better  use  yer  can  make  av  yer  time  than  stoppin'  to 
fight  with  every  sort  of  a  fool  that  lies  on  ye.  It  wasn't  the 
girl  that  stooped  to  pick  up  apples  as  won  the  race  in  the 
Bible.  An'  as  for  this  particular  lie,  it's  a  clumsy  one,  an' 
them  as  knows  ye  know  it's  a  lie,  and  them  as  don't  can  think 
what  they  please.  If  ye  have  any  friends,"  he  added,  inno- 
cently, "  that  yer  want  to  set  straight,  on  the  quiet  like,  do  it. 
Tell  them  the  falseness  of  it,  if  ye  think  there's  need.  But  as 
for  writin'  to  the  papers  an'  wreckin'  the  party  an'  ruinin'  the 
General  an'  settin'  the  town  by  the  ears,  it's  not  yersilf  that 
could  do  it." 

Marsh  stood  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  out  of 
the  window  in  evident  indecision,  and  the  Irishman  knew  that 
he  had  gained  his  point.     So  he  rose  to  go. 

"  It  needn't  occur  again,'1  he  said.  "  I'll  speak  to  the  blath- 
erin'  idiot  Pawson  mesilf.  an'  tell  him  I'll  break  the  pagan  head 
av  him  if  he  fails  to  have  ye  correctly  reported  hereafter.  It  '11 
be  aisy  enough  whenever  ye  speak  to  have  it  said  that,  '  in  ac- 
cordance with  his  custom,  the  young  orator  made  no  reference  to 
local  issues,  but  confined  himsilf  entirely  to  a  brilliant  elucida- 
tion of  the  lofty  principles  which  should  inspire  the  party  in 


124  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

its  general  behavior,'  or  words  to  that  effect.  It  won't  be  two 
weeks  before  every  man  and  child  in  the  city  knows  ye  for 
the  only  man  on  either  side  as  never  descends  to  speak  on  the 
labor  question." 

Marsh  still  gazed  from  the  window  without  replying,  and 
the  Irishman,  not  even  saying  good-bye,  left  him,  to  re-enter 
the  General's  room. 

"  It's  red-hot  the  lad  is,"  said  he,  winking  at  that  gentleman, 
and  speaking  in  tones  loud  enough  for  Marsh  to  hear,  "  over 
what  the  pestiferous  lunatic  Pawson  was  after  savin'  in  the 
paper  to-day.  Maybe  you  didn't  notice  it!  Well,  it  was 
outrageously  unjust,  an'  no  blame  to  the  boy  for  bein'  hot.  It's 
but  for  the  sake  of  yersilr  an'  the  party  the  lad's  decided  not 
to  write  to  the  papers  to-day  and  vindicate  himself  from  the 
aspersions  on  his  character." 

A  minute  later  Marsh  heard  the  ponderous  footstep  of  the 
big  politician  as  he  went  to  the  elevator.  Sullivan  whistled 
quietly  to  himself  as  he  descended,  and  by  the  time  that  he 
reached  the  street  the  whole  affair  had  gone  from  his  mind.  It 
was  only  an  incident  in  the  day's  work. 

In  accordance  with  the  Irishman's  suggestion,  Marsh  sat  down 
and  wrote  to  Mr.  Holt.  It  was  a  brief  and  dignified  letter,  in 
which  he  simply  said  that  he  hoped  that  it  was  not  necessary 
for  him  to  tell  Mr.  Holt  that  he  had  been  entirely  misrepresent- 
ed by  the  Democratic  papers  that  morning,  and  that  in  his 
remarks  at  Jackson  he  had  said  nothing  to  give  any  excuse  for 
the  views  which  had  been  ascribed  to  him.  He  had  not  re- 
ferred to  labor  matters  at  all,  or  said  anything  which  could, 
however  remotely,  be  construed  as  expressing  a  sympathy, 
which  he  did  not  feel,  with  those  who  were  endeavoring  to 
make  trouble  between  the  men  and  Mr.  Holt's  companies. 

Mr.  Holt  received  the  letter  the  next  morning  and  read  it 
through.  The  explanation  was  not  necessary,  for  Mr.  Holt 
knew  enough  of  Marsh,  and  was  sufficiently  familiar  with  po- 
litical trickery,  to  have  already  conjectured  that  the  thing  was 
a  mistake.  Still,  he  liked  Marsh,  whom  he  believed  to  be  a 
clean  and  capable  young  fellow,  for  having  written.  Then  the 
incident  was  forgotten  under  the  pressure  of  more  important 
affairs. 


THE    POWER    OF    THE    PRESS  125 

As  General  Harter  had  said,  the  street-railway  employes 
had  chosen  to  adopt  much  the  same  position  as  had  been  taken 
by  the  men  of  the  iron-and-steel  company.  The  conference 
with  Mr.  Holt  had  been  brief  and  futile,  and  a  strike  was  now 
assured.  In  accordance  with  his  engagement  with  the  Demo- 
cratic leaders,  however,  Wollmer  was  compelled  to  prevent  mat- 
ters coming  to  a  head  for  another  week,  if  possible.  So  he 
impressed  upon  the  committee  the  necessity  of  taking  every 
possible  step  to  avoid  appearance  of  precipitateness,  and  to 
surround  the  strike  with  all  the  circumstances  of  legality.  Be- 
fore calling  a  general  meeting  of  the  men,  at  which  only  a 
quarter  or  a  third  could  be  present,  they  must  "poll"  the  men 
individually,  and  get  the  formal  vote  of  the  majority  of  all  con- 
cerned in  favor  of  a  strike.  This  could  be  done  in  three  or 
four  days.  The  vote  could  then  be  reported  to  the  meeting, 
and  in  the  eyes  of  the  public  there  would  be  every  evidence 
that  the  committee  had  acted  in  the  most  conservative  way, 
and  that  the  strike  was  only  finally  decided  upon  after  every 
resource  had  been  exhausted,  and  in  obedience  to  the  deliberate 
decision  of  an  actual  majority  of  the  men.  Pains  were  taken 
that  the  public  should  be  well  informed  through  the  press  of 
the  prudent  course  which  the  committee  were  taking,  and  of 
their  extreme  reluctance  to  force  a  crisis.  So  the  town  knew 
that  there  were  yet  some  days  of  breathing-time. 

For  the  management  of  the  two  companies,  however,  these 
were  busy  days.  As  for  the  steel  works,  there  was  no  question 
as  to  the  course  to  be  pursued.  When  the  strike  came  the 
shops  would  be  shut  down  for  an  indefinite  period.  Every 
precaution  would  have  to  be  taken  to  avoid  danger  to  the 
property  at  the  time  when  the  men  quitted  work,  and  to  pro- 
tect it  against  malicious  injury  afterwards. 

With  the  street-railway  company  it  was  different.  It  could 
not  shut  down  and  remain  idle  indefinitely.  It  must  make 
every  effort  to  maintain  its  service  unimpaired,  at  whatever 
cost,  and  must  run  cars  on  all  its  lines  every  day  under  pen- 
alty of  forfeiture  of  its  franchises.  After  much  consultation, 
the  officers  of  the  company  decided  that  the  only  course  to 
pursue  was  to  anticipate  the  strikers  by  "  locking  out "  as 
many  hours  as  was  necessary  before  the  strike  was  to  occur. 


126  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

Experience  with  electric  street-railway  strikes  in  other  cities 
had  shown  that  while  some  men,  when  the  appointed  hour  ar- 
rived, might  take  their  cars  back  to  the  barns,  the  majority 
would  leave  them  wherever  they  might  happen  to  be  on  the 
route.  Before  leaving,  moreover,  not  a  few  would  probably 
disable  the  car  in  some  way.  By  waiting  for  this  to  occur 
the  company  would  at  the  least  be  put  to  considerable  incon- 
venience and  expense,  and  might  suffer  material  loss  by  the 
damage  to  its  equipment.  It  was  deemed  wiser  to  forestall 
the  men,  and  to  prevent  them  from  taking  the  cars  out  at  all 
that  day. 

But  the  officers  knew  that  at  best  they  could  reckon  on  the 
loyalty  of  only  a  very  small  proportion  of  the  employes.  It 
remained  to  have  in  readiness  such  reinforcements  as  were 
available.  Communication  was  opened  with  agents  in  various 
cities,  who  were  instructed  to  engage  the  best  men  to  be  got, 
and  to  send  them  on  at  once — not  in  parties,  but  singly ;  rep- 
resentatives of  the  company  would  meet  them  at  the  station, 
and  care  for  them  until  the  day  when  they  would  be  needed. 

It  was  on  Friday  that  the  fruitless  meeting  between  Mr. 
Holt  and  the  employes  of  the  street-railway  company  had 
been  held.  By  Monday  recruits  were  already  arriving,  one 
and  two  at  a  time,  from  Chicago,  St.  Louis,  Kansas  City, 
Omaha,  St.  Paul,  Minneapolis,  and  other  cities.  By  Tuesday 
night  the  company  had  sixty  men  in  readiness.  On  Wednes- 
day it  was  announced  by  the  committee  that  the  poll  of  the 
employes  was  finished,  and  the  joint  meeting  was  called  for 
the  following  evening.  That  afternoon  one  hundred  and 
fifty  men  had  arrived  in  town  or  were  on  their  way,  due  to 
arrive  during  the  night,  in  addition  to  fifty  who  had  been  en- 
gaged in  the  city  itself,  and  instructions  were  sent  to  all  agents 
that  no  more  were  needed. 

The  meeting  was  held,  and  Wollmer  presented  the  report 
of  the  committee.  A  large  majority,  over  seventy  per  cent., 
of  the  street  -  railway  men  had  voted  in  favor  of  a  strike, 
and  over  ninety  per  cent,  of  the  iron-and-steel  company's  em- 
ployes. The  committee,  Wollmer  said,  had  exhausted  every 
argument  with  the  management  of  the  companies,  but  in  vain ; 
the  gentleman  who  was  president   of   both  companies  would 


THE   POWER    OF   THE   PRESS  127 

listen  to  no  reason.  It  was  only  with  the  greatest  reluctance 
that  the  committee  had  finally  decided  to  take  the  individual 
votes  of  all  concerned.  Those  votes  were  overwhelmingly  in 
favor  of  an  immediate  strike  on  both  companies.  This,  the 
speaker  believed,  ended  the  duties  of  the  committee,  who  de- 
sired to  express  their  appreciation  of  the  obligations  that  they 
were  under  to  the  Hon.  William  Harter,  the  candidate  for 
governor  of  the  State  on  the  Democratic  ticket,  and  begged  to 
be  discharged.  It  rested  with  the  meeting  to  take  such  action 
as  it  saw  fit. 

The  meeting  was  not  slow  in  taking  that  action.  A  vote  of 
thanks  was  awarded  to  the  committee,  and  another  to  General 
Harter.  The  resolution  declaring,  after  much  preamble,  that 
it  was  the  duty  of  the  officers  of  the  several  organizations  to 
which  the  employes  of  the  two  companies  belonged  to  order  a 
strike  in  the  usual  course,  and  that  the  officers  and  members  of 
all  such  organizations  should  act  together  for  the  best  interests 
of  all,  was  then  put  and  carried  amid  a  tumult  of  applause. 
The  exact  time  at  which  the  strike  should  take  effect  was  left 
to  the  officers  of  the  various  organizations  to  decide ;  but  a 
recommendation  was  made  that  it  should  not,  if  possible,  be 
deferred  beyond  forty-eight  hours  after  the  time  of  the  ad- 
journment of  that  meeting. 

A  few  speeches  were  made,  which  were  for  the  most  part 
moderate  and  conservative  in  tone.  Once  a  speaker  arose  who 
commenced  with  much  waving  of  his  arms  to  advocate  the  use 
of  dynamite  and  Winchester  rifles ;  but  he  was  promptly  hooted 
down.  Within  two  hours  after  coming  to  order  the  meeting- 
had  adjourned  in  a  dignified  manner  and  without  disturbance. 
Except  for  a  few  scattered  shouts  and  cries  from  different 
quarters  of  the  large  audience,  the  men  filed  out  of  the  temple 
in  silence,  as  if  fully  conscious  of  the  responsibility  of  their 
action,  and  resolutely  prepared  to  stand  by  it  to  the  end. 

To  the  public — to  one  who  could  not  see  beneath  the  surface 
and  understand  how  the  wires,  in  the  fingers  of  half  a  dozen 
men,  were  pulled  so  that  all  the  mass  of  sober,  self-respect- 
ing citizens  were  no  more  than  puppets  in  their  hands,  and 
who  could  not  read  the  motives  by  which  these  leaders  were 
prompted — the  meeting  was  an  impressive  manifestation  of  the 


128  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

self-control  and  love  of  law  and  order  of  the  American  working- 
man.  And  it  was  as  such  that  the  papers  of  all  classes  spoke 
of  it  the  next  day. 


XI 

AT    CROSS-PURPOSES 

It  is  a  natural  infirmity  of  the  human  intellect  that  it 
should  regard  as  new  any  fact  with  which  it  comes  in  con- 
tact for  the  first  time  ;  and  it  seemed  to  Jessie,  not  so  much 
that  her  eyes  had  been  opened,  but  as  if  a  change  had  come 
over  the  spirit  of  the  world.  The  illusion  in  her  case  was 
heightened,  and  in  a  measure  justified,  by  the  fact  that  some 
of  the  phenomena  in  her  own  horizon  were  new  and  even 
from  day  to  day  in  process  of  generation.  The  strike  itself 
was  a  distinct  fact  which  had  not  previously  existed.  It  was 
only  the  gathering  into  one  thunder-cloud  at  the  storm  cen- 
tre of  the  scattered  forces  and  elements  which  had  hitherto 
been  spread  harmlessly  all  over  the  skies.  But  who,  though 
he  dreads  the  storm  when  it  comes,  has  a  thought  for  the 
moisture  and  electricity  which  may  be  carried  in  the  air 
when  the  heavens  are  clear  ?  Moreover,  Horace  Marsh's  dis- 
loyalty, as  it  seemed  to  her,  was  a  thing  of  yesterday.  It 
marked  an  epoch. 

In  all  her  acquaintance  with  Marsh  she  had  rather  shrunk 
from  questioning  her  heart  in  regard  to  him,  or  speculating  as 
to  their  possible  future  relations.  That  he  loved  her,  she 
was  aware — as  no  woman  could  have  helped  being.  How  se- 
riously he  loved  her,  or  how  much  of  his  life  and  hopes  were 
involved  in  his  passion,  she  had  not  cared  to  consider; 
chiefly,  probably,  from  the  instinctive  dread  of  her  gentle 
nature  of  the  thought  of  causing  suffering  to  any  one.  For 
had  she  put  the  question  to  herself,  she  knew,  without  put- 
ting it,  she  must  have  said  that  she  did  not  love  him.  She 
admired  him  and  liked  his  companionship.  She  recognized 
his  intellectual  strength  and  his  moral  cleanliness.    As  a  figure 


130  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

in  a  latter-day  romance  she  would  have  sympathized  with 
him,  and  her  judgment  would  have  pronounced  against  any 
heroine  who  rejected  him.  But  neither  men  nor  women 
bring  to  the  consideration  of  the  affairs  of  their  own  hearts 
the  same  dispassionate  reason  with  which  they  pass  upon  the 
conduct  and  analyze  the  mistakes  of  others.  How  many 
women  have  refused  to  marry  men  who  would  have  made 
them  happy,  and  rejoiced  sincerely  in  the  good-fortune  of 
girls,  their  friends,  when  they  have  accepted  these  same  men 
— and  then  earned  the  pity  of  those  friends  by  throwing 
themselves  away  on  husbands  who  were  worthless  ?  Any  gam- 
bler will  tell  you  how  much  easier  it  is  to  play  another  man's 
game  than  to  use  judgment  when  your  own  money  is  at  stake. 

Jessie  had  never  felt  in  Horace's  presence  those  tender 
emotions — those  swayings  of  the  inclination  "  dearer  than 
can  be  justified  to  reason  " — which  are  accepted  as  the  neces- 
sary and  proper  symptoms  of  love.  Only  for  that  one  day — 
when  driving  home  from  her  father' s  office,  at  the  opera, 
and  during  the  wakeful  night  which  followed — had  she  for 
the  first  time  experienced  any  conscious  desire  for  his  com- 
panionship. Then,  indeed,  she  had  turned  to  him,  whether 
for  his  heart's  sympathy  or  for  intellectual  consolation  she 
had  not  considered.  Only  she  longed  for  him.  And  with 
the  very  next  morning  had  come  the  disillusion  and  the 
wreck ! 

During  these  days  she  did  not  speak  of  him.  Had  she 
done  so,  things  might  have  gone  differently.  There  were 
times  when  she  wondered  that  her  father  had  not  mentioned 
his  name,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  disgrace  of  his  defec- 
tion must  have  touched  her  father  as  closely  as  it  had  her- 
self;  but  the  work  of  preparation  for  the  coming  struggle  left 
Mr.  Holt  little  leisure  to  think  of  other  things,  and  Marsh, 
with  the  episode  of  the  speech  at  Jackson,  had  been  com- 
pletely forgotten.  Jessie  even  expected  that  casual  visitors 
would  speak  of  it ;  for  was  not  his  shame  public  ?  Did  not 
the  whole  town  know  it? 

It  was  well  that  she  was  compelled  to  busy  herself  with  the 
affairs  of  the  household  and  the  entertainment  of  her  guests, 
as  the  misery  of  the  time  could  scarcely  have  failed  to  bring 


AT   CROSS-PURPOSES  131 

on  a  second  sickness  similar  to  that  of  her  childhood.  She 
often  longed  to  be  alone  in  the  house  ;  but  without  her  being 
aware  of  it,  the  presence  of  her  two  friends  and  the  necessity 
of  exerting  herself  in  their  behalf  was  the  best  medicine  pos- 
sible. Once  Miss  Willerby  had  asked  whether  it  would  not 
be  better  that  she  should  go  away — whether  she  was  not 
rather  in  the  way  in  this  season  of  anxiety. 

"  No,  dear,"  Jessie  had  said,  as  she  put  her  arms  around 
her  friend's  waist.  "  We  need  friends  now ;  we  need  any- 
body who  will  not  desert  us  in  the  time  of  trial." 

The  bitterness  with  which  she  spoke  surprised  the  other, 
who,  however,  concluded  merely  that  Jessie's  mind  must  be 
filled  with  something  that  her  father  had  told  her,  of  some 
desertion  to  the  enemy  on  the  part  of  political  or  business 
friends  whom  he  had  trusted.  She  did  not  think  of  Marsh. 
She  had  not  seen  the  paper  containing  that  fatal  article,  and 
knew  nothing  of  the  struggle  which  had  been  going  on  in 
her  friend's  heart.  That  Jessie  should  be  anxious  and  should 
show  it  in  her  face  and  manner  was  only  natural  at  such  a 
time.  There  was  no  need  to  look  for  specific  reasons  for  her 
lack  of  spirits. 

As  for  Miss  Caley,  she  was  engrossed  in  her  relations  with 
Barry,  an  affair  which  was  rising  to  its  crisis  with  all  the  ra- 
pidity and  certainty  of  a  Greek  tragedy.  When  the  protago- 
nist was  on  the  stage — that  is  to  say,  when  she  was  in  Barry's 
company — the  action  moved  quickly.  In  the  intervals  she 
herself  played  the  part  of  the  chorus,  with  rhythmic  confi- 
dences about  the  domestic  altar  of  the  Holt  household.  The 
impending  strike  she  accepted  with  complacency  as  a  fitting 
setting  for  the  piece,  giving  it  just  the  circumstances  of 
gloom  and  dignity  which  were  needed.  The  chorus,  perhaps, 
was  a  trifle  more  personal  and  frivolously  inclined  than  is 
customary  ;  but  it  possessed  compensatory  advantages  in  the 
matters  of  entertainment  and  transparency  of  motive  and  ex- 
pression. Indeed,  her  comments  upon  the  plot  were  naivete 
itself. 

"  He  has  the  most  wonderful  memory !"  she  assured  her 
friends  one  day,  after  Barry  had  gone.  "  He  has  been  quoting 
Shelley  to  me  nearly  all  the  afternoon.    I  happened  to  say,  you 


132  MEI*    BORN    EQUAL 

know,  that  I  was  fond  of  Shelley  that  evening  when  we  were 
sittino-  round  the  fire,  and  he  has  been  reading  Shelley  ever 
since !  And  if  you  could  have  seen  his  eyes !"  And  she 
gave  a  little  shiver  of  ecstatic  reminiscence.  "  And  when  we 
talked  about  the  emotions  and  how  funny  it  was  that  we 
always  knew  whether  one  was  going  to  like  a  person  when 
one  first  saw  them.  That  wasn't  the  case  with  Fred  Jones 
and  me,  because  we  hated  each  other  for  ever  so  long  at  first. 
But  then  we  hate  each  other  now  again,  so  it's  all  right. 
That  proves  the  rule,  you  know.  But,  anyway,  I  didn't  tell 
him  anything  about  Fred  (I  had  two  letters  from  Fred  to-day), 
and  he — Mr.  Barry,  I  mean — said  that  he  had  known  that  he 
was  going  to  like  me  awfully  just  as  soon  as  he  came  into  the 
room.  I  told  him  I  did  too.  Bat  that  wasn't  quite  the  truth, 
you  know,  because  I  hardly  saw  him  for  ever  so  long.  But 
what  could  I  say  ?  I  couldn't  tell  him  that.  But  he  must 
have  suspected  something,  because  he  said  that  he  had  been 
awfully  jealous  of  Mr.  Blakely  that  first  night.  As  if  Mr. 
Blakely  gave  him  any  chance  of  being  jealous  !  Why,  he 
didn't  even  look  at  me  !" 

At  other  times  the  strain  was  stormier,  fraught  with  stress 
and  woe.  On  one  occasion  after  Barry  had  made  his  exit  she 
was  discovered  sitting,  as  it  might  have  been  Ariadne  pas- 
sioning, looking  very  small  and  forlorn  on  a  very  large  sofa, 
with  a  little  much  -  crumpled  handkerchief  in  her  hand,  and 
evident  signs  of  tears  about  her  cheeks  and  eyes. 

"  It  is  all  the  horrid  strike,"  she  said,  sobbing.  "  Can't  the 
police  or  somebody  do  something  to  stop  it  ?  We  have  been 
talking  all  about  it,  and  he  said  if  there  wTas  a  riot  and  the 
company  needed  men  to  help  it  that  he  would  be  sworn  in 
or  something,  and  would  go  out  and  fight.  And  I  positively 
forbade  him  to  do  it.  I  said  if  he  cared  for  my  wishes  a  bit 
he  wouldn't,  because  he  might  be  killed ;  and  I  said  if  he 
didn't  promise  not  to,  I  would  never  speak  to  him  again  as 
lon^  as  I  lived.  And  he  was  just  as  obstinate  !  He  said 
that  I  wouldn't  mean  it  always,  and  that  I  couldn't  want  him 
not  to  do  his  duty.  Oh,  he's  awfully  high-minded  !  And 
then  I  got  angry.  He  has  been  telling  me  about  his  business 
— about  making  people  pay  things,  you  know,  until  they  died, 


AT   CROSS-PURPOSES  133 

and  then  putting  up  statues  to  them  (it  was  just  as  interest- 
ing !),  and  I  asked  him  whether  he  would  pay,  and  what  kind 
of  a  statue  he  would  put  up  to  himself  if  he  got  killed.  And 
that  made  him  angry.  He  said  that  I  was  heartless  and 
couldn't  really  care  for  him,  or  I  wouldn't  talk  in  that  way. 
And  then  he  went  away — as  solemn  and  cross  and  dignified 
as  he  could  be."  And  she  rubbed  her  cheeks  with  the 
crumpled  pocket-handkerchief,  and  sat  the  picture  of  deso- 
lation. 

But  Jessie,  listening,  wondered  how  Barry's  "  high-minded- 
ness  "  would  consort  with  Marsh's  principles.  Living  together 
as  they  did,  how  did  they  agree  ?  What  shame  it  would  be 
to  Horace  if  the  time  ever  came  when  Barry  did  offer  his 
services ! 

Meanwhile  it  was  ordained,  by  that  contrariness  which 
sometimes  looks  so  much  like  deliberate  malice  on  the  part 
of  fate,  that  Horace  and  Jessie  should  not  meet.  For  the 
first  day  or  two  after  his  return  he  had  been  restrained  from 
calling,  partly  by  the  necessity  of  attending  to  work  which 
had  accumulated  in  his  absence,  and  still  more,  perhaps,  by  a 
feeling  of  bashfulness  and  uncertainty  as  to  the  effect  of  that 
article,  supposing  it  to  have  been  read,  and  of  his  note  to 
Mr.  Holt.  At  length,  not  having  heard  in  reply  to  the  note, 
he  had  called  at  the  house  on  Sunday  afternoon ;  but  nobody 
was  at  home.  It  perversely  happened  also  that  Mr.  Holt,  re- 
turning before  his  daughter,  had  picked  up  the  card  which 
Marsh  left,  and,  after  reading  it,  thrown  it  into  the  bowl  which 
stood  on  the  hall-table  for  the  reception  of  the  pieces  of  paste- 
board after  they  had  done  their  duty  ;  and  there  it  was  irrev- 
ocably lost.  Mr.  Holt  had  not  thought  of  the  matter  again, 
and  Jessie  never  knew  that  Horace  had  been  to  the  house. 
On  Monday  Marsh  had  to  leave  the  town  for  his  speech  at 
Olympia,  returning  on  Tuesday,  and  leaving  again  on  the  fol- 
lowing day  (which  was  Miss  Holt's  day  at  home)  for  a  trip 
to  a  number  of  smaller  places  in  the  State,  which  would  keep 
him  away  for  a  week. 

His  silence  Miss  Holt  of  course  ascribed  to  shame.  When 
on  the  Wednesday  she  received  some  roses  from  him,  sent 
just  before  he  left  the  city,  she  threw  the  card,  which  this 


134  MEN    BOEN    EQUAL 

time  accompanied  the  flowers,  into  the  fire,  and  gave  the 
roses  themselves  to  the  butler  with  injunctions  to  take  them 
out  into  the  kitchen.  But  the  prudent  Thomas  took  them  to 
his  own  bedroom  instead,  wondering  meanwhile  who  it  might 
be  from  whom  his  mistress  did  not  care  to  accept  flowers. 
He  hoped  it  might  be  that  Mr.  Blakely.  But,  whoever  it  was, 
Thomas  was  loyally  convinced  that  he  deserved  it. 

Nor  did  Jessie  derive  any  news  of  Horace's  movements 
from  the  newspapers.  She  confined  herself  now  to  the  read- 
ing of  the  Republican,  in  which  no  mention  was  made  of 
Marsh's  doings  or  sayings,  though  there  was  abundant  abuse 
of  the  Democratic  leaders  in  general  for  their  demagogic 
and  hypocritical  friendship  (so  the  Republican  organ  styled 
it)  for  the  working-man,  and  their  advocacy  of  his  cause  in  the 
present  labor  troubles — abuse,  however,  which  was  shrewdly 
tempered  with  expressions  of  Republican  sympathy  for  the 
same  working-man  (whose  vote  would  count  on  either  side), 
viewed  as  an  abstraction,  although  the  sympathy  was  pre- 
vented from  being  actively  displayed  in  his  behalf  in  the  im- 
mediate and  local  controversy  by  what  the  organ  wished  to 
be  regarded  as  a  judicial  impartiality,  which  forbade  either  it 
or  the  party  to  assume  a  hasty  attitude  on  either  side  in  any 
personal  quarrel  without  the  fullest  understanding  of  all  the 
arguments  of  both  parties.  In  fact,  the  Republican  press 
was  in  a  particularly  uncomfortable  dilemma,  of  which  it  was 
able  to  do  no  more  than  dally  with  both  horns  with  the  best 
grace  that  it  could. 

Had  Miss  Holt  chosen  to  read  the  Democratic  papers  she 
would  have  found  all  Marsh's  speeches  reported,  not,  indeed, 
at  as  much  length  as  those  of  some  other  speakers  who  de- 
voted themselves  to  the  discussion  of  the  labor  question,  but 
still  with  a  fulness  which  showed  that  the  party  attached  con- 
siderable importance  to  the  young  lawyer's  words  and  influ- 
ence. Sullivan  appeared  to  have  kept  his  promise  to  inter- 
view the  editor  Pawson — or,  at  least,  some  instructions  had 
gone  forth  from  Democratic  headquarters  which  prevented  a 
repetition  of  the  misrepresentation  to  which  Marsh  had  been 
subjected  in  the  matter  of  his  speech  at  Jackson.  More  than 
once,  indeed,  in  the  editorial  comment  upon  his  utterances, 


AT    CROSS-PURPOSES  135 

Horace  recognized  an  echo  of  Sullivan's  words,  when  the 
Irishman  had  suggested  in  the  office  how  the  general  tenor 
of  Marsh's  oratory  might  be  explained  to  the  public ;  and,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  as  Sullivan  had  foretold,  those  members  of 
the  party  who  were  close  students  of  the  internal  currents  in 
public  affairs  soon  came  to  understand  that  of  all  the  Demo- 
cratic speakers  Marsh  alone  was  conducting  a  campaign  of 
principle,  and  without  reference  to  local  or  temporary  issues. 
The  better  men  admired  him  for  it,  but  those  of  the  baser 
sort  decided  that  he  lacked  courage,  and  wondered  why  any 
man  should  hesitate  to  come  out  frankly  in  favor  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  his  party.  Marsh  himself  was  so  engrossed  in  his 
own  work  and  so  filled  with  his  own  ideals  that  he  was  hard- 
ly aware  how  far  he  had  drawn  away  from  the  rest  of  his 
party  —  or  the  rest  of  his  party  from  him.  He  read  the 
papers,  indeed,  and  noticed  regretfully  how  violently  indi- 
vidual speakers  expressed  themselves  on  the  question  of  the 
strike — a  violence,  however,  which,  remembering  his  own  ex- 
perience, he  conjectured  to  be  largely  intensified  in  its  filtra- 
tion through  the  editorial  mind  of  the  "  blathering  idiot " 
Pawson. 

Of  her  other  friends  and  acquaintances  Miss  Holt  saw  even 
more  than  usual.  They  naturally  called  to  condole  with  her 
on  the  threatening  aspect  of  the  situation  (sometimes,  it 
seemed  to  her,  that  they  came  rather  to  rejoice  in  it),  and, 
moreover,  there  were  callers  on  Miss  Willerby  and  Miss 
Caley  as  well  as  on  herself. 

Mrs.  Bartop  had  held  forth  at  considerable  length  on  the 
deplorable  condition  of  a  community  where  such  a  state  of 
affairs  was  possible. 

"  As  I  tell  Bartop,"  she  said,  "  it  is  inconceivable  that  such 
a  thing  could  happen  in  the  East,  or  in  any  well-governed 
city." 

Mrs.  Flail  had  called,  even  busier  than  usual ;  for  while  she 
permitted  no  interruption  of  her  regular  meetings,  and  the  de- 
mands on  her  time  made  by  the  various  organizations  in  which 
she  was  interested  had  to  be  met,  she  was  further  immersed 
in  preparations  for  a  gigantic  soup-kitchen  for  the  comfort  of 
the  families  of  the  men  who  would  be  thrown  out  of  work  by 


136  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

the  strike.  The  incongruity  in  her  appealing  to  Miss  Holt 
for  assistance  in  such  a  cause  did  not  appear  to  strike  the  es- 
timable woman.  That  evening  Miss  Holt  referred  the  mat- 
ter to  her  father. 

"  Subscribe,  by  all  means,"  he  said,  smilingly. 

"  I  thought  you  would  want  me  to,"  the  daughter  said, 
"  but  it  seemed  better  to  ask  you  first." 

"  Don't  do  more  than  other  people — so  that  it  will  look 
conspicuous,  or  as  if  we  were  trying  to  be  quixotic.  But  do 
what  is  right.  However,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  "I  doubt 
if  there  will  be  any  need  of  soup-kitchens.  The  strikers  are 
not  likely  to  starve,  I  understand." 

"  Why  not  ?     I  hope  not,  I'm  sure." 

"  Well,  there  may  be  nothing  in  it ;  but  there  are  ugly 
stories  afloat  about  an  intention  to  use  the  city's  funds  in 
support  of  the  men.  It  hardly  seems  credible,  but  the  City 
Hall  crowd  are  pretty  unscrupulous." 

Blakely  had  called,  and  shown  considerable  tact.  Having 
expressed  his  sympathy  with  Miss  Holt  and  her  father  briefly, 
and  in  words  which  sounded  earnest,  he  had  devoted  him- 
self during  the  rest  of  the  hour  for  which  he  stayed  to  talk- 
ing to  Miss  Willerby,  until  at  parting,  when,  pressing  his 
hostess's  hand,  he  had  said : 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  anything,  even  the  least  thing,  to  com- 
fort you  and  make  the  worry  less,"  accompanying  the  words 
with  a  look  for  which  Miss  Holt  was  very  grateful,  and 
which  made  her  feel  that  she  had  done  him  an  injustice  in 
pronouncing  him  hard  and  unsympathetic.  At  least,  how 
much  better  his  course  was  than  that  of  the  other — the  other 
who,  alone  of  all  their  friends,  deserted  them  now. 

Not  in  the  Holt  household  alone,  but  all  over  the  city  the 
impending  strike  was  the  chief  topic  of  interest.  Although 
the  recommendation  after  the  meeting  in  the  Labor  Temple 
had  been  in  favor  of  declaring  the  strike  effective  within 
forty -eight  hours  from  the  adjournment  of  the  meeting — 
which  forty -eight  hours  would  have  expired  on  Saturday 
night — it  was  not  difficult  for  Wollmer,  who  desired  to  keep 
to  the  letter  his  agreement  to  delay  matters  for  a  full  two 


AT    CROSS-PURPOSES  137 

weeks,  to  persuade  the  labor  leaders  that  Saturday  would  be 
a  most  injudicious  day  on  which  to  strike,  as  it  would  give 
the  companies  (and  the  street-railway  company  especially) 
a  day  and  a  half,  or  until  Monday  morning,  in  which  to  col- 
lect their  forces  and  prepare  for  the  business  of  the  follow- 
ing week.  Eleven  o'clock  on  Monday  forenoon  was  the  time 
then  finally  decided  upon. 

During  these  days  of  suspense  there  was  perhaps  no  house 
in  the  city,  outside  of  that  of  Mr.  Holt,  wherein  as  much 
anxiety  was  felt  as  in  the  establishment  in  Fourth  Street, 
where  Wollmer  boarded  with  Mrs.  Masson.  With  the  extra 
work  and  additional  precautions  which  were  now  necessary, 
Harrington  could  spend  but  little  time  in  his  sweetheart's 
company.  When  he  was  with  her,  much  of  the  trouble  was 
forgotten,  for  he  managed  to  maintain  a  show  of  light- 
heartedness,  and  ridiculed  her  apprehensions  for  his  safety. 
But  in  his  absence,  while  she  sat  at  her  small  table  and 
"  dusted  "  and  painted  and  burnished  at  her  cups  and  sau- 
cers, the  clouds  gathered  again.  However  brave  he  might 
be,  her  heart  told  her  that  the  peril  which  lay  ahead  was  a 
real  one ;  and  when  they  met  at  the  breakfast  and  supper 
table  Wollmer  spared  no  pains  to  increase  the  uneasiness. 
He  took  malicious  pleasure  in  telling  again  and  again  how 
confident  were  the  men  and  how  sure  of  victory  ;  how  impos- 
sible it  was  for  the  street-railway  company  to  hope  to  op- 
erate its  cars,  when  there  were  not  only  their  own  striking 
employes  to  contend  with,  but  the  two  thousand  men  from 
the  steel  works  as  well ;  how  the  strikers  intended,  in  the  first 
place,  to  bring  all  their  united  forces  to  bear  upon  the  street- 
railway  company  to  compel  it  to  come  to  terms,  and,  failing 
that,  how  it  would  be  impossible  for  any  leaders  to  restrain 
the  men  from  wrecking  the  iron -and -steel  plant.  Arriving 
at  this  point,  he  never  failed  to  dilate  upon  the  hopeless- 
ness of  the  iron-and-steel  company's  endeavoring  to  pro- 
tect its  property  against  the  overwhelming  numbers  which 
would  be  arrayed  against  it,  and  the  certain  death  which 
would  await  any  handful  of  volunteers  whom  the  company 
might  attempt  to  install  as  a  garrison  at  the  mills. 

In  all   this  he  was   aided   and   abetted   by   Mrs.   Masson. 


138  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

She  listened  approvingly  to  Wollrner's  doleful  vaticinations, 
and  when  he  finished  would  seize  the  opportunity  to  drive 
the  nail  home  in  her  step-daughter's  mind  by  specific  in- 
ference to  "  that  Harrington  fellow "  as  one  who,  by  his 
wicked  foolishness,  was  most  certain  to  invite  his  own  de- 
struction. 

The  effect  upon  Jennie  of  these  conversations,  to  which 
she  was  treated  twice  a  day  with  unfailing  regularity,  can 
easily  be  imagined.  Moreover,  she  had  other  causes  of  anx- 
iety besides  her  fear  for  her  lover.  She  had  cause  to  have 
serious  doubts  as  to  her  step-mother's  sanity.  Not  only  did 
that  individual  appear  to  grow  daily  more  and  more  sub- 
servient to  Wollrner's  influence,  and  more  and  more  vindic- 
tive in  her  hatred  of  Harrington  and  all  who  were  opposed  to 
the  strikers  in  the  present  trouble,  but  she  had  taken  of  late 
to  throwing  out,  from  time  to  time,  mysterious  hints  of  some 
unknown  benefit  which  was  to  come  to  the  Masson  house- 
hold in  case  the  Democratic  party  was  victorious  at  the  com- 
ing election  and  General  Harter  became  governor  of  the 
State.  This  windfall,  of  whatever  nature  it  might  be,  seemed 
to  depend  more  on  the  General's  personal  success  than  on  the 
triumph  either  of  the  party  or  the  strikers.  The  hallucina- 
tion, Jennie  conjectured,  was  the  result  of  some  absurd  delu- 
sion which,  to  secure  his  own  ends,  Wollmer  had  woven  about 
the  old  lady's  mind ;  none  the  less,  on  more  than  one  occa- 
sion, when  her  step-mother  was  throwing  out  these  dark  al- 
lusions from  behind  the  teacups  at  the  table,  Jennie  thought 
she  caught  an  expression  of  curious  bewilderment  in  Woll- 
rner's face,  as  if  he  were  as  much  at  a  loss  as  herself  as  to  their 
meaning.  Usually  Wollmer  received  these  remarks  in  silence  ; 
but  once  he  said : 

"  Yes,  it  is  going  to  be  a  great  thing  for  the  cause  of  labor 
if  the  Democrats  win,  as  they're  bound  to  do." 

"  It  ain't  so  much  the  party,"  croaked  the  old  woman,  who 
was  singularly  yellow  and  ill-favored;  "it's  the  governor. 
It's  a  good  deal  to  be  governor  of  a  State  like  this,  even  if  it 
ain't  quite  the  same  as  being  president.  A  governor  can  do 
a  lot  for  those  as  he's  bounden  to.  But  as  for  this  other 
Harrington  fellow — " 


AT    CROSS-PUKPOSES  139 

And  there  was  alwa)Ts  in  her  mind,  which  seemed  to  be  as 
wrinkled  as  her  cheeks,  this  same  connection  between  the  Gen- 
eral and  the  "  other  Harrington  fellow."  The  latter,  on  being 
informed  of  the  step-mother's  eccentricity,  had  laughed  at  it. 

"  Poor  old  lady,"  he  said,  pityingly,  "  Wollmer  is  too 
much  for  her.  I  don't  wonder  that  eternal  listening  to  him 
is  affecting  her  brain.  Perhaps  he'll  be  turning  your  head 
next,  Jen." 

They  were  standing  as  they  talked  in  the  front  parlor  of 
the  Masson  abode,  a  cheerless  room,  in  spite  of  the  efforts  of 
the  two  girls  to  make  it  seem  home-like  and  inhabited.  A 
large  mirror  with  a  plain  gilt  frame  surmounted  the  mantel, 
in  the  centre  of  which,  among  a  number  of  knick-knacks  of 
various  sorts,  chiefly  of  Jennie's  decoration,  stood  a  pho- 
tograph of  Mrs.  Masson,  taken  some  twenty  years  before, 
when  she  was  Mrs.  Brady,  a  widow,  and  which  showed  her 
at  that  time  to  have  been  by  no  means  an  unprepossessing 
woman.  It  was,  indeed,  the  remnant  of  these  good  looks 
which  had  attracted  Mr.  Masson  a  few  years  later,  and  it  was 
not  until  after  he  had  persuaded  her  to  take  his  name  in 
place  of  the  lamented  Brady's  that  he  discovered  how  thor- 
oughly vicious  and  shrewish  a  person  he  had  given  to  his 
daughters  as  a  second  mother. 

"  Pretty  hard  to  believe  that  she  ever  looked  like  that, 
isn't  it?"  Harrington  asked,  musingly.  "I  wonder  if  you'll 
ever  change  so  much,  Jen  ?  If  so,  it  will  be  in  the  other  di- 
rection and  because  your  halo  begins  to  blossom." 

"  I  guess  not,  Charlie,"  she  replied,  absently.  "  But  what 
on  earth  has  General  Harter  to  do  with  us  or  you  ?" 

"  Nothing.  Wollmer  has  just  been  stuffing  her  mind  full 
of  nonsense,  that's  all.  He  has  been  telling  her  how  much 
he  can  do  with  Harter — and  I  guess  there's  something  in 
that — and  what  influence  he  is  going  to  have  with  the  ad- 
ministration when  Harter's  elected  ;  and  she,  poor  old  woman, 
has  got  it  into  her  head  that  in  some  way  she  is  to  share  in 
the  good  things.  Perhaps  she's  going  to  marry  Wollmer," 
he  added,  laughing;  "  as  he  can't  get  the  daughter,  he'll  con- 
tent himself  with  the  step-mother.  How  would  you  like 
him  for  a  father  ?" 


140  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

Jennie  only  shook  her  head  and  smiled  sadly. 

Another  cause  of  uneasiness  to  Jennie  Masson  was  her  sis- 
ter Annie.  Annie,  it  appeared,  had  never  reached  her  Aunt 
Susan.  The  aunt  lived  at  Western,  Indiana.  By  an  absurd 
but  intelligible  mistake  Annie  had  left  the  train  at  Caston,  a 
town  forty  miles  this  side  of  her  proper  destination,  being- 
misled  by  the  similarity  of  the  names  as  pronounced  by  the 
stentorian  but  not  too  carefully  articulate  brakeman.  The 
train  had  gone  when  she  discovered  her  mistake.  It  was 
slowly  growing  dark,  and  the  station-agent  had  told  her  that 
there  was  no  other  train  by  which  she  could  reach  Western 
until  the  same  hour  on  the  following  day.  Understanding 
her  dilemma,  the  agent  had  volunteered  his  services,  and  had 
directed  her  to  a  house  where,  with  his  assistance,  she  had 
obtained  lodgment  for  the  night.  The  house,  Annie  wrote 
her  sister,  was  so  clean  and  nice,  and  the  people,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Dale,  who  had  the  dearest  little  seven-year-old  girl  in 
the  world,  were  so  kind  to  her  that  she  had  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  she  would  be  very  much  more  comfortable  with 
them  than  with  her  rather  imperious-minded  aunt  at  West- 
ern. So  she  had  made  arrangements  to  remain  where  she 
was  indefinitely.  The  agent  had  sent  for  her  trunk  next 
day,  and  as  the  time  passed  she  had  grown  altogether  de- 
lighted that  she  had  made  the  mistake  that  she  had. 

Her  sister  knew  enough  of  her  wayward  disposition  to  deem 
it  better  to  refrain  from  expostulations.  So  she  wrote  loving- 
ly, saying  how  glad  she  was  to  know  that  Annie  was  comforta- 
ble, and  sent  word  to  Aunt  Susan  that,  owing  to  a  change  in 
plans,  Annie  would  not  visit  her.  The  disappointment  was 
softened  by  the  present  of  a  dainty  little  cup  and  saucer  of 
Jennie's  painting,  which  were  altogether  too  good  for  her 
aunt  to  appreciate.  Indeed,  that  lady  contemptuously  pro- 
nounced them  "finicking." 

Altogether,  Jennie  Masson  had  worry  enough  in  these  days; 
she  saw  so  little  of  Charlie  now,  and  had  no  one  else  to  go 
to  for  comfort  and  courage.  Even  Tom  Weatherfield,  who 
called  occasionally,  was  too  dolorously  self-centred  in  his 
beloved's  absence  to  afford  much  companionship  or  consola- 
tion.    They  were  gloomy  times,  Jennie  felt,  as  she  sat  and 


AT    CROSS-PURPOSES  141 

worked  all  day  with  her  sweet,  peaceful  face  bowed  over  the 
little  bits  of  china  which  grew  to  be  so  beautiful  in  her 
hands. 


XII 

THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE    STRIKE 

At  the  steel  works  the  strike  was  inaugurated  in  orderly 
and  peaceful  fashion.  At  one  minute  before  eleven  o'clock  the 
full  force  was  at  work,  each  man  in  every  department  appar- 
ently intent  on  the  task  before  him.  By  two  minutes  after 
eleven  every  tool  was  deserted,  every  man  walking  silently  to 
the  coat-room,  rolling  down  his  shirt- sleeves  or  wiping  the 
perspiration  from  his  face  as  he  went.  Fifteen  minutes  later 
the  last  of  the  long  files  of  men  had  issued  from  the  various 
buildings,  and  the  strike  had  begun. 

The  officers  of  the  company  made  no  attempt  to  interfere 
or  to  argue  with  the  men.  There  was  nothing,  except  the 
unusual  silence  of  the  hands  and  the  absence  of  the  custom- 
ary horse-play  and  joking,  to  distinguish  it  from  the  ordinary 
breaking  up,  when  the  great  whistle  sounded  the  end  of  the 
day's  work.  Apparently  the  idea  occurred  to  James  Darron, 
the  manager,  who  stood  watching  the  men  moving  by. 

"  No  whistle  to-day,"  he  remarked  to  Harrington,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  by  his  side,  "  nor  for  many  a  month  to  come,  I 
guess." 

In  their  respective  buildings  the  foremen  of  the  different 
departments  were  at  work,  with  the  assistance  of  some  two- 
score  of  outside  men,  whose  services  had  been  engaged  for 
the  day.  The  great  engines  were  shut  down  and  the  fires 
extinguished ;  the  hand-tools,  which  had  been  dropped  by  the 
men  where  they  stood,  were  collected  and  carried  off  to  the 
store-room;  and  on  the  machinery  wipers  were  at  work,  clean- 
ing up;  men  with  baskets  and  brooms  went  through  every 
shop,  gathering  up  the  scraps  and  sweeping  out.  By  dusk 
the  work  was  finished.     Two  watchmen,  for  no  extraordinary 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE    STRIKE  143 

precautions  were  considered  necessary,  remained  on  guard,  and 
for  the  first  time  since  the  fires  had  been  started,  nearly  three 
years  before,  the  great  plant  on  which  ten  thousand  souls  de- 
pended for  their  immediate  livelihood,  and  which  indirectly 
supported  twice  as  many  more,  was  dead,  with  not  so  much  as 
a  smouldering  spark  of  life  in  all  its  huge  frame. 

Harrington  waited  only  long  enough  to  see  that  the  men 
left  peaceably,  and  that  there  was  no  immediate  danger  either 
to  the  property  as  a  whole,  or  to  the  electric  plant  which  was 
immediately  under  his  care.  By  half-past  eleven  he  was  on 
his  way  to  the  central  barns  of  the  street-railway  company. 

It  was  with  no  little  anxiety,  and  a  curious  feeling  of  home- 
lessness,  that  he  set  his  face  city-wards.  The  last  news  from 
the  street-railway  company's  offices,  received  by  telephone 
about  an  hour  ago,  was  to  the  effect  that  there  had  been  no 
trouble,  and  that  cars  were  running.  The  men,  this  much 
Harrington  knew,  had  been  unprepared  for  the  action  of  the 
company.  Of  all  the  old  employes,  only  eighty,  of  whom  fifty 
were  conductors  and  thirty  engineers,  had  been  regarded  as 
trustworthy  enough  to  be  retained  in  the  service.  Of  the 
rest,  each  had  been  met  at  the  barns  that  morning  with  an  en- 
velope containing  his  pay  and  a  formal  notice  of  discharge. 
With  the  two  hundred  new  men  and  the  eighty  who  were  con- 
sidered loyal  the  company  had  been  able  to  put  enough  cars 
into  operation  to  fairly  accommodate  the  public. 

Beyond  this,  the  brief  telephone  message  already  mentioned 
was  all  the  information  that  had  been  received  at  the  steel 
works.  What  might  have  happened  in  the  last  hour  Har- 
rington could  not  guess ;  but  he  feared  the  result  of  the  ar- 
rival down-town  of  the  hands  from  the  works. 

The  iron-and-steel  company's  plant  was  situated  at  the 
north  end  of  the  city,  while  the  barns  for  which  Harrington 
was  bound  lay  about  two  miles  distant  to  the  southwest.  The 
quickest  way  to  go  from  one  point  to  the  other  was  by  means 
of  an  electric  car  on  the  line  which  passed  within  two  hundred 
yards  of  the  mills,  changing  at  a  point  about  half-way  down 
town  to  a  car  which  ran  directly  to  the  barns. 

When  Harrington  reached  the  tracks  no  car  was  in  sight  in 
either  direction,  though  the  road  lay  straight  and  unobstructed 


144  MEN    BORN   EQUAL 

as  far  as  the  terminus  of  the  line  to  northward,  and  for  nearly 
a  mile  in  the  direction  of  the  city.  This  was  ominous ;  and  he 
set  himself  to  walk  at  a  rapid  gait  towards  town,  keeping  be- 
tween the  rails.  The  road  seemed  strangely  deserted  and  silent. 
It  was  a  clear  day,  cold  enough  for  his  breath,  as  he  walked,  to 
be  faintly  visible  in  the  atmosphere.  The  rails  in  front  of  him 
glimmered  coldly  in  the  thin  and  fitful  sunlight.  The  road  was 
dusty,  with  a  white  and  powdery  dust,  for  there  had  been  no 
rain  now  for  some  three  weeks,  and  very  bare  in  its  whiteness, 
with  the  wires  overhead  and  the  poles  at  regular  intervals  on 
either  hand,  and  not  a  moving  thing  in  sight,  except  where 
some  clumps  of  black  figures,  presumably  the  rear-guard  of  the 
receding  column  of  strikers,  were  just  disappearing  where  the 
street  curved  in  the  distance.  There  were  no  stores  on  this 
first  half-mile  of  the  road,  nor  any  buildings — save  on  one  side 
a  small  group  of  cottages,  standing  well  back  from  the  high- 
way, and  on  the  other,  still  farther  off,  a  clump  of  farm  build- 
ings in  the  middle  of  a  patch  of  wind-swept  cottonwood-trees, 
which  had  been  there  before  the  city  existed. 

Harrington  hurried  on,  walking  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
and  growing  more  anxious  with  every  minute  as  no  sign  of  an 
approaching  car  reached  him*  At  length  a  man  appeared  com- 
ing in  the  opposite  direction,  and  Harrington  hailed  him. 
"  Can  you  tell  me  if  the  cars  are  running?"  he  asked. 
"  I  guess  so,"  the  stranger  replied.  "  They  have  been,  after 
a  fashion,  all  mornin'." 

"Any  trouble  down-town,  do  you  know?" 
"  I  don't  know.  I  hain't  been  down-town  to-day." 
This  was  some  consolation,  but  of  a  slender  and  negative 
sort;  and  Harrington  started  again  to  walk  rapidly.  As  he 
did  so  he  thought  that  he  caught  the  faintest  echo  of  the  pecul- 
iar reverberant,  humming  noise  made  by  an  approaching  car. 
The  sound  grew  louder,  and  as  Harrington  approached  the 
bend  in  the  road  a  car  came  sweeping  round  the  corner.  It 
was  empty,  but  there  was  an  extra  man  with  the  engineer,  and 
two  others  stood  one  on  each  side  of  the  conductor — strikers, 
evidently,  endeavoring  to  persuade  the  men  to  join  them.  Im- 
mediately behind  this  car  came  two  more  in  quick  succession. 
On  each  of  these  also  strikers  were  laboring  with  both  the  em- 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE    STRIKE  145 

ployes.  In  one  sat  a  solitary,  venturesome  passenger,  and  of 
another  Harrington  noticed  with  alarm  that  one  of  the  win- 
dows was  broken. 

There  was  no  likelihood  that  the  first  of  these  cars  would 
reach  the  terminus  of  the  line  and  return  in  time  to  be  of  any 
service  to  our  friend,  so  he  struck  off  to  the  sidewalk,  for  he 
was  reaching  the  region  of  retail  stores,  and  pushed  on  his  way. 
At  the  junction  with  the  line  to  the  barns — what  was  known  as 
the  Lincoln  Street  line — a  car  going  in  his  direction  was  just 
passing,  which  Harrington  boarded.  There  was  no  other  pas- 
senger within,  nor  was  there  any  one  with  either  the  engineer 
or  conductor. 

"  Had  much  trouble  ?"  Harrington  asked  of  the  latter,  as  he 
stepped  on  the  platform.  The  conductor  only  looked  at  him 
surlily  and  did  not  reply. 

"  I'm  an  officer  of  the  company ;  my  name's  Harrington," 
he  exclaimed.  "  I'm  just  down  from  the  steel  works  and  on 
my  way  to  the  barns." 

"No;  can't  say  as  we've  had  much  trouble,"  said  the  con- 
ductor thereupon.  "  It  looked  ugly  a  while  back  ;  but  it  ain't 
a  marker  to  what's  ahead." 

"  It  looks  serious,  does  it  ?"  Harrington  asked. 

"  You  bet !    If  I'd  a-realized,  I  don't  know  as  I'd  have  come." 

"You  are  one  of  the  new  men?  Where  do  you  come 
from  ?" 

"  Cincinnati,"  replied  the  conductor.  "  We  had  a  strike 
there  a  year  and  a  half  ago ;  but  gee-whizz !  Not  but  what 
we  was  warned,"  he  added,  "  for  the  company  did  not  get  us 
here  under  no  false  representations.  They  told  us  all  about 
the  steel  works  an'  everything ;  but  these  things  sound  sort  o' 
different  five  hundred  miles  away  to  what  they  does  when  you 
gets  in  the  midst  of  'em." 

Harrington  could  not  blame  the  man  for  his  uneasiness,  but 
it  filled  him  with  foreboding.  He  measured  the  conductor 
with  his  eye,  and  saw  that  be  was  a  strong,  well-built  fellow, 
with  a  clean-cut  face.  He  had,  it  appeared,  been  through  a 
strike  before,  and  might  be  accepted  as  at  least  a  fair  sample 
of  the  new  men.  If,  then,  he  was  already  showing  signs  of 
weakening  so  early  in  the  fight,  it  was  a  poor  outlook  for  the 

10 


146  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

company.     Harrington  had  taken  a  seat  inside  the  car,  and 
leaned  forward  to  speak  to  the  conductor  again. 
"  Is  this  your  last  trip  before  dinner?" 
"  No  ;  I've  got  to  make  one  more,  I  guess." 
But  there  was  a  half-heartedness  in  his  voice  which  seemed 
to  his  hearer  to  imply  an  uncertainty  as  to  whether  he  would 
ever  make  that  trip. 

Nothing  more  was  said,  and  the  electrician  turned  his  atten- 
tion to  the  people  on  the  sidewalk.  This  was  a  busy  part  of 
the  city,  and  as  the  car  passed  everybody  stopped  to  look  at 
it,  rather  as  if  they  expected  that  it  might  explode.  At  each 
corner  stood  a  knot  of  idlers,  of  whom  it  was  difficult  to  say 
who  were  strikers  and  who  were  not,  but  they  made  no  dem- 
onstration of  hostility.  Once  a  small  child,  perhaps  eight 
years  of  age,  ran  alongside  of  the  car  for  some  distance,  cry- 
ing "  Scab !  Scab !  Scab !"  and  some  loungers  at  a  corner 
cheered  him  on  with  "  That's  right,  sonny !"  Harrington 
glanced  at  the  conductor  and  saw  that  he  flushed,  though  he 
stood  with  his  arms  folded,  looking  straight  ahead,  affecting 
not  to  hear.  At  another  place  a  large  woman,  standing  bare- 
headed in  a  doorway,  screamed  out  something  unintelligible 
and  shook  her  fist  at  the  car.  Something  in  the  tone  of  the 
voice  reminded  Harrington  of  Mrs.  Masson. 

As  they  approached  the  barns  the  number  of  idlers  on  the 
sidewalk  increased,  and  at  one  place  a  man  swung  himself  on 
the  car  as  it  was  moving,  while  two  more  climbed  up  beside 
the  engineer.  The  one  who  had  boarded  at  the  rear  began  to 
talk  eagerly  to  the  conductor,  but  in  a  voice  so  low  that  Har- 
rington could  not  catch  what  he  said.  The  conductor  did  not 
answer,  only  once  shaking  his  head  to  reply  to  a  question  in 
the  negative,  and  then  moving  into  the  car  as  if  to  escape  fur- 
ther argument.  Harrington  knew  the  other  by  sight  as  a  for- 
mer employe  of  the  company,  and  apparently  was  recognized 
in  turn,  as  he  judged  from  the  look  which  the  striker  gave 
him  as  he  dropped  off  the  car  again,  calling  to  the  conductor 
as  he  went : 

"  You're  a  fool  if  you  don't— and  you  may  be  worse." 
The  last  two  squares  before  the  barns  were  reached  were 
crowded.     On  either  side  of  the  street  a  continuous  wall  of 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE    STRIKE  147 

strikers,  in  some  places  two  or  three  deep,  lined  the  road,  and 
a  storm  of  hisses  and  groans,  with  shouts  of  "Scab!"  accom- 
panied the  car.  In  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  barns  the 
crowd  was  so  dense  that  there  was  barely  room  for  the  car  to 
pass,  and  so  demonstrative  that  Harrington  thought  an  attack 
was  about  to  be  made,  and  he  stepped  quickly  out  to  help  the 
conductor.  Amid  the  shouts  and  groans  he  caught  his  own 
name  more  than  once,  and  the  threats  of  many  of  the  shaken 
fists,  he  saw,  were  intended  personally  for  himself.  It  was  a 
sea  of  angry  faces  and  waving  arms  that  he  looked  down  upon, 
and  his  blood  tingled.  Suddenly  the  car  swung  round  the 
corner  and  in  another  moment  was  safe  under  the  shadow  of 
the  barn,  and  Harrington  was  conscious  that  he  drew  a  deep 
breath  of  relief  as  he  stepped  to  the  ground. 

No ;  he  certainly  did  not  blame  the  man  from  Cincinnati 
for  his  uneasiness. 

The  central  barns  immediately  adjoined  the  company's 
main  power-house,  and  here  Harrington  had  work  to  do  whicli 
kept  him  for  an  hour  or  more.  As  he  moved  about  the  power- 
house talking  to  the  men,  or  sat  in  the  office  in  conversa- 
tion with  the  minor  officers  of  the  company,  he  could  hear  the 
shouts  from  the  crowd  without  rising  and  falling  as  one  car 
after  another  came  in  or  went  out,  or  as  some  incident  arose 
to  enrage  or  divert  the  mob.  Every  one  who  arrived  from 
down-town  brought  news  that  it  was  at  "the  loop"  that  the 
aspect  of  affairs  was  most  threatening.  Harrington  was  anx- 
ious now  to  visit  the  other  power-house  and  the  barns  upon 
the  South  Side.  To  do  this  his  way  lay  by  the  loop  in  ques- 
tion— a  point  in  the  centre  of  the  city  where  the  various 
lines  converged,  and,  circling  around  two  blocks  of  buildings, 
started  on  their  return  journeys.  Here  on  ordinary  days, 
when  the  full  service  was  in  force,  there  was  an  almost  con- 
tinuous procession  of  cars. 

Boarding  the  next  car  that  left  the  barns,  Harrington  start- 
ed on  his  trip  down-town.  As  they  swung  out  into  the  street 
there  arose  the  same  roar  of  groans  and  curses  as  Harrington 
had  already  passed  through  once,  and  the  same  mass  of  an- 
gry faces  and  waving  arms  surrounded  him.  No  attempt  was 
made  at  obstruction,  however,  and  the  trip  passed  without 


148  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

incident  of  moment  until  the  beginning  of  the  loop  was 
reached.  Here,  in  the  space  of  a  few  squares,  were  massed 
several  thousand  people,  the  strikers  being  reinforced  with  all 
the  idlers  and  curiosity -seekers  who  gather  on  such  occa- 
sions. Approaching  the  loop,  Harrington  dropped  off  the 
car  and  made  his  way  to  the  sidewalk,  where,  behind  those 
who  stood  in  their  places  along  the  curb,  a  sluggish  stream 
of  passers  in  either  direction  slowly  forced  its  way  along. 
With  this  current  he  moved  laboriously  to  the  vicinity  of 
the  corner  where  the  cars  were  most  frequent  and  the  crowd 
densest;  then  edging  himself  as  nearly  as  possible  to  the 
roadway,  he  watched  over  the  shoulders  of  those  in  front  of 
him  the  passage  of  the  cars. 

Each  as  it  approached  the  curve  was  stopped,  and  waited 
for  some  seconds  before  proceeding.  Two  or  three  passed 
without  mishap ;  then  Harrington  saw  the  engineer  on  the 
next  car,  as  it  stopped,  raise  his  fist  as  if  to  strike  one  of  the 
men  who  was  clinging  to  the  railing  and,  presumably,  abusing 
him.  In  an  instant  the  line  of  men  on  either  side  broke,  and 
a  dozen  at  once  were  swarming  round  the  engineer.  It  looked 
for  a  moment  as  if  he  would  be  pulled  from  his  place  and 
badly  handled ;  but  the  cries  of  "  Let  him  go  I"  "  Leave  the 
scab  alone  !"  and  the  like,  which  rose  from  a  hundred  throats, 
brought  the  strikers  to  their  senses,  and  they  drew  back,  one 
who  had  snatched  the  engineer's  cap  from  his  head  throwing 
it  contemptuously  into  his  face,  amid  the  hoots  and  laughter 
of  the  crowd. 

Scarcely  had  the  noise  created  by  this  incident  subsided, 
when  the  engineer  of  the  next  car  to  arrive  at  the  corner 
stopped  his  car,  gave  the  lever  one  additional  and  vicious 
jerk,  and,  throwing  his  leg  over  the  railing,  jumped  to  the 
ground.  There  had  been  desertions  before,  but  this  was  the 
first  that  Harrington  had  seen,  and  his  blood  boiled  as  the 
throng  around  him  shouted  in  frantic  exuberance  of  delight. 
The  deserter  was  caught  up  almost  as  soon  as  he  touched  the 
ground,  and,  hoisted  shoulder-high,  was  passed,  struggling 
and  kicking  in  the  air,  back  to  those  on  the  sidewalk,  where 
he  was  soon  lost  to  sight.  Turning  his  attention  again  to  the 
car  which  was  standing  idle,  Harrington  felt  his  heart  leap  as 


THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE    STRIKE  149 

he  saw  the  conductor  pass  quietly  through  the  car,  shutting* 
both  doors  carefully  behind  him,  and  take  the  engineer's 
place.  The  air  was  full  of  the  cries  of  the  strikers,  who  for 
a  moment  did  not  appear  to  notice  a  figure  which  came  from 
Harrington  did  not  know  where,  and  stepped  on  to  the  rear 
platform  of  the  car.  It  was  Superintendent  Boon,  of  the 
street-railway  company.  The  self-appointed  engineer  saw 
him  coming  through  the  car,  and  waited  with  his  hand  on  the 
lever.  The  superintendent  stood  by  his  side  and  asked  him 
a  question  or  two — presumably  as  to  his  ability  to  handle  the 
car.  The  other  nodded  in  reply,  and  as  the  lever  was  released 
and  swung  round  the  car  moved  off. 

For  some  time  longer  Harrington  stood.  It  was  keenly  ex- 
citing; but,  on  the  whole,  the  electrician  was  considerably 
encouraged,  perhaps  surprised,  to  see  how  little  disposition 
to  use  violence  the  strikers  showed.  They  were  for  the  most 
part  good-humored  and  ready  to  laugh  at  any  ludicrous  turn 
which  affairs  might  take,  and  the  jeers  and  abuse  were  min- 
gled with  good-natured  chaffing  and  raillery. 

Around  this  corner  were  stationed  some  twenty  policemen, 
who,  however,  made  no  effort  to  interfere  with  the  actions 
of  the  crowd.  Probably  it  was  well  that  they  did  not,  for  a 
show  of  authority  on  their  part  might  have  lessened  the  good- 
humor  of  the  men,  and  the  representatives  of  the  law  were  far 
from  being  strong  enough  to  cope  with  the  mob  in  case  of  a 
collision.  But  Harrington  fancied  that  he  saw  something- 
more  than  a  prudent  neutrality  in  the  attitude  of  the  officers. 
They  seemed  to  him  to  have  rather  the  air  of  sympathizers 
with  the  strikers,  and  to  rejoice  with  them  whenever  they 
gained  an  advantage.  The  mayor  of  the  city,  as  Harrington 
knew,  was  a  demagogue  of  the  shallowest  type,  a  creature  of 
Sullivan's,  who  had  already  in  semi-public  utterances  voiced 
his  advocacy  of  the  strikers'  cause.  It  was  generally  under- 
stood among  the  officers  of  the  two  companies  that  they 
could  expect  but  little  active  support  from  the  municipal  au- 
thorities, except,  possibly,  in  case  of  extreme  riot  and  dis- 
orderliness.  At  present,  at  all  events,  the  crowd  at  the  loop 
showed  no  signs  of  awe  of  the  police,  nor  did  they  pay  any 
attention  to  their  presence. 


150  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

Then  came  another  desertion.  This  time  it  was  a  con- 
ductor who  dropped  quietly  off  the  car  as  it  came  to  a  stand- 
still, and  waved  his  hand  to  the  crowd.  At  first  the  bystand- 
ers were  uncertain  whether  or  not  to  interpret  his  action  as 
making  an  accession  to  their  ranks.  At  this  signal,  however, 
the  air  was  rent  with  their  applause,  and  the  conductor  was 
picked  up  and  passed  along  as  the  engineer  before  had  been. 
The  engineer  of  this  car  had  not  noticed  the  departure  of  his 
fellow  -  employe,  and  stood  for  a  while  with  a  look  of  be- 
wildered inquiry  on  his  face  at  the  noise  which  the  crowd 
was  making,  waiting  for  the  conductors  signal  to  start. 
When  the  signal  did  not  come  he  turned  to  look  at  the  con- 
ductor, and  then  for  the  first  time  discovered  that  he  was 
alone.  The  crowd,  understanding  the  situation,  redoubled 
their  shouts  and  laughter,  and  when  a  voice  from  the  rear, 
rising  above  the  tumult,  yelled  "  Where  is  my  wandering 
boy  ?"  even  the  engineer  smiled.  Harrington  had  by  this 
time  forced  his  way  to  the  front,  and,  seeing  that  the  car  was 
one  which  would  carry  him  to  his  destination,  he  stepped  on 
the  rear  platform,  and  gave  the  starting  signal  in  two  quick 
jerks  of  the  bell -rope,  nodding  as  he  did  so  to  the  engi- 
neer, who,  being  an  old  employe  of  the  company,  recognized 
him.  As  the  car  started  a  broken  orange,  thrown  some- 
where from  amid  the  mass,  struck  Harrington  on  the  shoul- 
der, spattering  his  chin  and  shirt-front  with  juice  and  pulp. 
The  crowd,  many  of  whom  knew  him  by  sight,  roared 
their  applause  at  the  accuracy  of  the  aim.  Lying  on  the 
seat  inside  the  car,  where  his  predecessor  had  thrown  it 
before  leaving,  Harrington  saw  the  brass  conductor's  badge, 
which  he  picked  up  and  pinned  on  the  breast  of  his  own 
coat. 

The  run  to  the  South  Side  barns  (in  the  course  of  which 
Harrington  collected  fifteen  cents  for  the  company  in  fares) 
was  made  without  interruption,  and  he  left  the  car  without 
regret.  He  was  glad  enough  when  the  badge  and  the  fifteen 
cents  had  been  safely  surrendered  at  the  superintendent's 
office  at  the  barns.  Here  at  the  power-house  Harrington 
found  enough  to  do  to  keep  him  busy  until  late  in  the  after- 
noon, and  his  knowledge  of  the  progress  of  affairs  was  con- 


THE    BEGINNING    OF   THE    STRIKE  151 

fined  to  the  intelligence  brought  by  the  men  as  they  came  in 
or  which  arrived  over  the  telephone. 

The  day,  indeed,  passed  without  any  more  serious  disturb- 
ance than  Harrington  had  already  seen.  The  strikers  as  yet 
were  evidently  disposed  to  use  no  other  force  than  that  of 
moral  suasion.  There  were  a  few  breakages  of  car  windows, 
and  one  engineer  who  was  struck  by  a  stone  on  the  temple 
was  badly  but  not  fatally  cut.  Two  or  three  cars  were  more 
or  less  disabled  by  accidents  arising  from  the  awkwardness  of 
M  green  "  engineers,  and,  most  serious  of  all  perhaps,  several 
women  and  one  man  were  injured  in  various  degrees  in  the 
crowds  on  the  sidewalks.  For  the  rest,  the  strikers  did  not 
seem  to  take  things  very  much  in  earnest  on  this  first  day. 
By  dark  the  crowds  about  the  loop  had  materially  dimin- 
ished. At  eight  o'clock  the  company  abandoned  its  service 
for  the  day,  and  both  sides  rested  on  their  arms. 

Looking  over  the  field,  the  officers  of  the  company  were 
fairly  satisfied  with  the  result  of  the  day's  warfare.  Of  the 
two  hundred  and  eighty  men  who  had  started  out  on  the  cars 
in  the  morning,  forty-three  had  gone  over  to  the  enemy.  On 
the  other  hand,  nearly  a  thousand  applications  for  employ- 
ment had  been  received  at  the  company's  various  offices  from 
men  out  of  work.  None  had  been  engaged.  Probably  seven- 
ty or  eighty  per  cent,  of  the  applicants  would  be  unfit  for  the 
positions,  either  physically  or  morally.  In  such  cases  a  great 
many  men  will  apply  for  places  out  of  mere  bravado  and  for 
amusement,  so  that  they  may  say  afterwards  that  they  han- 
dled a  car  for  a  day  during  the  strike.  A  still  larger  number, 
men  to  whom  honest  or  continuous  work  is  naturally  re- 
pugnant, would  apply,  not  for  amusement  nor  with  a  view  to 
earning  wages,  but  in  order  that,  by  deserting,  they  might 
earn  the  gratitude  of  the  strikers,  and  perhaps  work  their  way 
into  the  ranks  of  those  whom  the  labor  organizations  support- 
ed during  the  continuance  of  the  strike  in  more  or  less  afflu- 
ent idleness.  Some  few  also  might  apply  with  the  deliberate 
intention  of  injuring  the  company  by  disabling  a  car  when  on 
the  road  and  then  leaving  it.  Against  all  these  classes  of  im- 
postors it  was  necessary  for  the  company  as  far  as  possible  to 
protect  itself.     Every  applicant,  however,  had  been  instructed 


152  MEN    BOKN   EQUAL 

to  sign  his  name  on  rolls  kept  for  the  purpose,  and  to  call 
again  on  the  following  day. 

The  strikers,  on  the  other  hand,  proclaimed  themselves 
equally  well  pleased  with  the  outcome  of  the  day.  At  a 
crowded  mass  -  meeting  held  that  evening,  which  was  ad- 
dressed by  Wollmer  and  the  other  labor  leaders,  every  speaker 
congratulated  the  men  on  the  good-temper  and  the  law-abid- 
ing spirit  which  had  been  shown.  The  desertions  from  the 
enemy  wrere  exaggerated.  The  company,  it  was  declared, 
had  been  making  desperate  efforts  for  weeks  past  to  collect 
men  from  every  city  in  the  country.  It  had  drawn  upon  ev- 
ery possible  source.  The  men  had  seen  the  result.  It  had 
started  the  day  with  a  miserably  inadequate  service,  and  the 
defections  since  the  strike  began  had  reduced  the  force  to  a 
little  over  one  hundred  men.  All  that  the  men  had  to  do  was 
to  continue  their  efforts  to  win  the  employes  over  one  by  one, 
and  there  could  be  but  one  outcome. 

As  for  the  employes  of  the  iron-and-steel  company,  they 
might  have  to  wait  a  little  longer.  They  had  expected  that. 
Let  them  now  work  with  the  street-railway  men  to  win  their 
fight,  and  the  moral  weight  of  that  victory  would  aid  them 
enormously  in  their  own  cause.  The  iron-and-steel  company 
could  perhaps  afford  to  keep  the  works  idle  for  a  while,  but  the 
stockholders  would  not  consent  to  an  indefinite  prolongation 
of  the  shut-down  until  their  property  went  to  pieces  from  rust 
and  decay.  Sooner  or  later,  by  early  spring  at  furthest,  the 
company  would  be  compelled  to  resume  operation.  When  it 
did  so,  then  would  be  the  time  for  the  men  to  assert  them- 
selves, to  insist  on  re-employment  and  on  the  recognition  of 
the  union. 

The  speakers  were  not  only  enthusiastic,  they  were  tri- 
umphant. The  audience  responded  with  prompt  and  boister- 
ous applause  at  every  opportunity. 

During  the  proceedings  Timothy  Sullivan  sat  upon  one  side 
of  the  stage,  concealed  from  the  audience,  but  where  he  could 
see  and  hear  the  speakers.  As  the  meeting  broke  up,  Woll- 
mer joined  him. 

"  It's  Niagara  itself  ye've  let  loose,"  said  the  Irishman,  in  a 
low  tone,  "  an'  can  ye  hould  it  ?     Ye've  got  it  now  all  right, 


THE    BEGINNING    OF   THE   STRIKE  153 

but  how  long  will  it  stay  ?  So  long  as  she  keeps  within  her 
banks  'tis  well,  but  once  let  her  get  away  from  ye  an'  flood 
the  country,  an'  you  an'  I  an'  all  the  Dimicratic  party  might 
as  well  be  swimmin'  the  Whirlpool  Rapids." 

"  I  shall  hold  them,"  said  Wollmer,  complacently. 

"  Oh,  I  know  ye'll  try,"  sneered  Sullivan,  "  for  there's 
twenty  thousand  dollars  a  week  in  it  for  yersilf.  But,  by 
God,  it  '11  come  dear  if  they  get  away  from  ye !" 


XIII 


MY    SISTER'S    KEEPER 


The  second  day  of  the  strike  passed  as  uneventfully  as  the 
first ;  but  when  the  third  day  opened  the  strikers  were  aware 
that  a  large  number  of  new  men  had  been  enlisted,  and  that 
the  company  intended  to  increase  its  service.  Had  the  news 
not  already  leaked  out,  the  perceptible  increase  in  the  number 
of  cars  and  the  new  faces  which  appeared  on  some  of  them 
would  have  soon  proclaimed  the  fact.  This  action  on  the 
part  of  the  enemy  was  regarded  by  the  strikers  as  in  the 
nature  of  a  challenge — an  invitation  to  leave  their  intrench- 
ments  and  fight  in  the  open.  Nor  were  they  slow  to  respond. 
There  was  less  laughter  now  among  the  crowds  around  the 
loop,  and  more  bitterness  in  the  abuse  which  was  directed  at 
the  men  as  they  passed  on  the  cars.  Stones  and  other  mis- 
siles began  to  be  used  freely,  and  on  many  occasions  men, 
climbing  on  the  front  or  rear  of  a  car,  struck  at  the  engineers 
and  conductors  with  their  fists  or  with  sticks. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  forenoon  one  of  the  new  hands 
derailed  his  car  at  a  switch  only  a  few  squares  from  the  loop 
and  in  a  central  part  of  the  city.  Whether  it  was  an  accident 
or  the  result  of  malicious  intent  it  was  difficult  to  say ;  but 
the  suspicion  of  intention  was  strengthened  by  the  fact  that 
as  soon  as  the  car  had  come  to  a  stand-still,  lying  diagonally 
across  the  roadway,  both  the  engineer  and  conductor  deserted 
to  the  strikers.  The  engineer  of  the  car  following  chanced 
also  to  be  a  new  and  inexperienced  man.  The  corner  of  the 
derailed  vehicle  projected  very  close  to  the  rails  on  which  he 
had  to  pass.  Believing,  however,  that  there  was  space  enough, 
and  flurried  perhaps  by  the  yells  of  the  throng  on  the  side- 
walk, he  endeavored  to  go  by  without  slackening  speed.     He 


my  sister's  keeper  155 

had  miscalculated  the  distance,  and  struck  the  rear  of  the  de- 
railed car  with  sufficient  force  to  throw  it  still  farther  from 
the  rails,  so  that  it  lay  almost  directly  across  the  road,  while 
the  second  car  was  also  thrown  from  the  track  on  the  oppo- 
site side. 

On  the  commencement  of  the  strike  Mr.  Holt  had  advised 
his  daughter  to  avoid  driving  down-town.  On  this  partic- 
ular morning,  however,  news  reached  Jessie,  shortly  after 
breakfast,  of  a  poor  family  on  the  West  Side  which  was  in  the 
extremity  of  distress — a  widowed  mother  who  was  ill,  while 
her  children  were  hungry  and  in  want  of  the  bare  necessaries 
of  life.  Jessie  had  invited  Mrs.  Tisserton  to  luncheon  that 
day,  and  to  reach  the  part  of  the  city  where  the  poor  family 
lived  and  return  in  time  for  lunch  by  any  other  means  than 
driving  would  be  impossible.  In  her  father's  absence  she 
sent  for  Wilson,  the  coachman,  and  consulted  him  as  to  the 
safety  of  making  the  trip.  Now,  WTilson,  possessed  of  a  pro- 
found contempt  for  the  strikers,  individually  and  collectively, 
had  grumbled  not  a  little  at  what  he  considered  Mr.  Holt's 
superfluous  caution. 

"As  if,"  Wilson  snorted,  "either  me  or  the  princess"  (for 
so  the  servants  called  her)  "  was  afraid  o'  this  riffraff." 

On  being  summoned  to  the  presence  of  his  young  mistress, 
he  ridiculed  the  idea  of  danger. 

"  I'd  show  'em  !"  he  said,  truculently.  "  Savin'  yer  pres- 
ence, miss,  I'd  show  'em  !" 

The  precise  nature  of  the  punishment  which  he  proposed 
to  inflict  upon  any  of  the  mob  who  presumed  to  interfere 
with  their  progress  did  not  appear ;  and  Miss  Holt  had  an 
uneasy  feeling  that  his  attitude  lacked  something  of  being 
adequate  to  the  occasion.  It  was  less  the  voice  of  the  saga- 
cious minister  who,  after  weighing  the  chances  of  danger  in 
a  proposed  enterprise,  had  decided  that  the  undertaking  was 
safe,  than  of  a  hot-headed  captain,  eager  only  to  come  face 
to  face  with  the  foe.  But  her  own  anxiety  to  go  on  the  er- 
rand of  mercy  overcame  whatever  forebodings  she  might  have 
felt,  and  Wilson  received  orders  to  bring  the  brougham  round 
at  once. 

The  trip  across  the  city  was  made  without  interruption, 


156  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

and  Miss  Holt  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  address  to  which 
she  had  been  directed.  The  destitution  of  the  family  had 
not  been  exaggerated.  They  lived  in  two  small  rooms  on  the 
third  floor  of  a  large  building — rooms  very  bare  of  furniture, 
and  from  which  Miss  Holt's  eye,  experienced  now  in  the  sad 
significance  of  the  hieroglyphics  of  poverty,  saw  at  a  glance 
that  every  article  on  which  money  could  possibly  be  obtained 
had  already  found  its  way  to  the  pawnbroker.  Here  dwelt 
the  mother  and  her  three  children,  the  eldest  a  girl  of  eight 
and  the  youngest  a  boy  of  three  and  a  half  years.  The  sound 
of  crying  came  to  Jessie's  ears  as  she  approached  the  door, 
and  it  was  not  until  she  had  knocked  twice  that  a  voice  within 
said  "  Hush !  be  still,"  and  the  door  was  cautiously  opened  a 
few  inches. 

"  Does  Mrs.  Silling  live  here  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  do  you  wish  to  see  her  ?" 

"  If  I  may,  please." 

"  I  don't  know  as  you  can,"  replied  the  girl  of  eight,  who 
already  had  the  manner  of  a  woman,  and  whose  face  was  old 
in  the  knowledge  of  sorrow  ;  "  I'll  ask." 

Jessie  did  not  wait  for  the  child's  return,  but,  pushing  the 
door  open,  stepped  into  the  first  of  the  two  rooms.  In  the 
middle  of  the  naked  floor  sat  the  two  younger  children,  their 
poor  little  bodies  partly  covered  with  rags  which  it  was  absurd 
to  speak  of  as  "  clothing."  They  had  between  them  an  old 
horseshoe  and  a  piece  of  cotton-cloth  twisted  to  the  sem- 
blance of  a  doll  for  playthings.  The  thin  faces  under  tousled 
hair  were  smudged  and  wet  with  tears.  As  she  met  iheir 
wide  eyes,  with  the  expectant  awe-stricken  look — so  unutter- 
ably pathetic  in  the  children  of  the  very  poor — Jessie's  heart 
ached. 

But  her  immediate  business  now  lay  in  the  farther  room, 
where,  in  the  dim  light — for  there  was  no  window  to  the  sec- 
ond apartment — stretched  on  a  mattress,  on  the  poorest  of 
broken  beds,  and  covered  only  by  a  worn  red  quilt,  lay  the 
mother.  Only  the  thin  white  face  was  visible,  which  hardly 
turned  towards  the  visitor  as  the  large  dark  eyes  looked  up 
to  Jessie.  The  latter  felt  a  lump  rising  in  her  throat  as  she 
laid  her  ungloved  hand  upon  the  woman's  forehead,  and  there 


MY  sister's  keeper  157 

was  something  in  the  softness  and  warm  tenderness  of  the 
touch  which  brought  tears  to  the  big,  sad  eyes.  Jessie  felt  her 
own  tears  coming.  To  conceal  them  she  turned  to  the  eldest 
child,  who  stood  silently  by  the  bedside. 

"  How  long  has  your  mother  been  ill  ?" 

"  Been  sick?     More'n  a  month  now." 

"  Your  father  is  dead  «" 

The  child  nodded. 

"  Your  mother  does  washing  when  she's  well  ?" 

The  child  nodded  again. 

Jessie  looked  round  the  room,  and  saw  how  forlorn  it  was. 

"  It  is  very  cold  here,"  she  said. 

"  It's  awful  cold  nights,"  said  the  little  girl.  "  We  hain't 
had  no  fire  for — oh,  for  weeks.  I  tries  to  sell  papers  some 
evenin's,"  she  added,  as  if  apologizing  for  not  being  better 
able  to  support  the  family,  poor,  wan  little  thing  !  "  But  it's 
hard  for  me  to  be  away.  They  can't  take  care  o'  mother," 
nodding  her  head  in  the  direction  of  the  smaller  children, 
who  had  now  crept  into  the  rear  room,  and  stood,  hand  in 
hand,  gazing,  fingers  in  mouth,  at  Jessie.  Heavens !  what 
care  could  be  taken  of  any  one  amid  such  surroundings  ? 

"  Could  you  come  away  with  me  now  for  a  few  moments 
and  leave  them  ?"  Jessie  asked  of  the  eldest  girl  again. 

"I  guess  so." 

Jessie  waited  an  instant  in  unconscious  expectation  that 
the  other  would  "  put  on  her  things."  But  it  soon  appeared 
that  the  child  was  ready  to  go.  There  was  no  need  of  prep- 
aration, for  she  possessed  no  other  costume.  So  Jessie 
leaned  over  the  bed  and  stroked  the  sick  woman's  forehead, 
and  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

As  she  went  to  the  door,  followed  by  the  girl,  she  stopped 
for  a  minute  by  the  younger  children,  and,  taking  a  hand  of 
each  in  hers,  "You  must  be  very  good  till  we  come  back," 
she  said,  "  and  if  you  don't  cry  or  make  a  noise  of  any  kind 
I'll  bring  you  something  you  will  like." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?"  she  asked  her  companion  as  they 
went  down  the  shaky  stairs. 

"  Lizzie." 

il  Has  a  doctor  seen  your  mother  ?" 


158  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

"  No." 

Arriving  at  the  street,  the  child  looked  in  amazement  at 
the  brougham  which  was  moving  up  and  down,  the  horses 
stamping,  and  tossing  their  heads,  the  object  of  admiration 
to,  as  it  seemed  to  Jessie,  an  almost  incredible  number  of 
ragged  and  dirty  little  children. 

"  Is  them  yours  ?"  asked  Lizzie,  breathlessly. 

"  Yes,  they  are  my  father's.  Now,  where  can  we  get  wood 
and  coal  ?" 

"  Next  block,  on  the  other  side  of  the  street,"  said  the 
little  girl,  pointing  in  the  direction  indicated  with  her  thin 
hand. 

"  And  where  is  there  a  drug-store  ?" 

"  Round  the  corner,  that  way." 

"  Well,  now  go  to  the  wood  and  coal  place  and  give  them 
that."  And  Jessie  put  a  bill  into  the  girl's  hand.  "  Bring 
back,  yourself,  as  much  wood  as  you  can  carry,  so  that  we  can 
start  a  tire  at  once,  and  tell  them  to  send  some  more,  and 
some  coal  as  soon  as  possible.  Give  them  all  the  money, 
and  tell  them  that  you  will  use  it  up  as  you  need  it.  Do  you 
understand  ?" 

The  girl  nodded. 

"  Run  along,  then.  I  am  going  to  the  drug-store  and  over 
there,"  indicating  a  general  store  at  the  corner,  "  and  will  be 
back  almost  as  soon  as  you." 

From  the  smooth-faced  clerk  at  the  drug -store  she  ob- 
tained the  address  of  a  Dr.  Chinnery,  and  drove  to  his 
house.  The  doctor  was  not  at  home,  so  Jessie  left  a  mes- 
sage for  him,  asking  him  to  call  on  Mrs.  Silling  as  soon  as 
possible,  and  to  take  charge  of  her  case,  and  proceeded  to 
the  general  store  which  she  had  already  noticed.  After  a 
visit  to  a  dairy,  where  they  also  sold  bread  and  other  prod- 
ucts of  the  bakery,  she  returned  to  the  wretched  rooms, 
taking  with  her  an  india-rubber  cat  and  a  large  woolly  ball 
as  presents  for  the  children. 

Here  she  found  Lizzie  on  her  knees  before  the  stove,  in 
which  a  fire  was  already  roaring  with  a  blaze  of  kindling- 
wood,  while  the  two  younger  ones  stood  on  either  side,  and 
spread  their  little  hands  to  catch  the  first  rays  of  warmth. 


my  sister's  keeper  159 

"  That's  right,"  Jessie  said,  cheerily ;  "  and  have  you  "been 
very  good  ?"  she  asked  the  elder  of  the  two  little  ones.  The 
child  looked  up  shyly  and  nodded. 

"  Then,"  said  Jessie,  kissing  her,  "  here's  what  I  promised 
you,"  and  she  produced  the  woolly  ball.  The  smallest  child 
was  soon  in  possession  of  the  cat ;  and  the  two,  without  a 
word,  sat  down  solemnly  on  the  floor  for  a  deliberate  ex- 
amination of  these  new  and  amazing  properties. 

Jessie  walked  to  where  the  sick  woman  lay,  who,  too  weak 
to  speak,  raised  her  left  hand  feebly  from  under  the  quilt, 
and  laid  it,  palm-  upward,  on  the  bedside.  Jessie  under- 
stood, and  placed  her  own  left  hand  in  it,  while  with  her 
right  she  stroked  the  white  forehead.  The  thin  fingers 
closed  round  the  soft  hand  and  clung  to  it  tenaciously. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  articles  which  Jessie  had  ordered 
arrived.  Some  milk  was  soon  warmed,  and  the  two  younger 
children  sat  themselves  on  the  floor,  with  their  backs  against 
the  wall,  eacli  with  a  cupful  of  milk,  into  which  they  dipped 
lumps  of  the  bread  and  ate  it — a  proceeding  to  which  they 
sat  themselves  with  such  voracity  that  Jessie  was  compelled 
to  tell  them  that  they  must  eat  more  slowly,  or  she  would 
have  to  take  the  good  things  away  again.  Lizzie  also  had 
her  cup  of  milk  and  her  bread,  but  she  set  it  on  the  floor 
in  a  corner  while  she  watched  Miss  Holt  pouring  some  of 
the  warm  liquid  from  a  teaspoon  between  the  sick  woman's 
lips.  Without  the  doctor's  approval,  Jessie  did  not  dare  to 
allow  the  invalid  to  take  too  much.  A  little  hot  milk  could 
do  no  harm,  but  beyond  that  she  was  afraid  to  venture. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  give  you  anything  more  to  eat  now," 
she  said  to  Mrs.  Silling,  "  because  the  doctor  is  coming  soon, 
after  I  have  gone  —  Dr.  Chinnery."  The  woman  smiled 
faintly  and  nodded.  "  He  will  know  what  you  ought  to  have 
and  what  ought  to  be  done  for  you.  You  are  to  do  just 
what  he  says,  and  Lizzie  can  get  anything  you  want  from  the 
drug  -  store  round  the  corner."  Jessie  kissed  the  woman's 
forehead  again,  adding,  "  Now  be  brave  until  he  comes,  and 
we  will  soon  have  you  well  again." 

Taking  Lizzie  into  the  other  room,  she  asked  her  if  her 
mother  belonged  to  any  church. 


160  MEN    BOKN    EQUAL 

"  She  used  to  go  to  the  'Piscopal  church  on  Sixteenth 
Street,  but  that  was  long  ago." 

"  Has  the  minister  ever  been  here  ?" 

The  child  shook  her  head.  "  I  guess  he  hasn't  any  use 
for  poor  folks.     We  can't  give  nothin'  to  the  church." 

How  had  she  come  to  think  these  things  ?  Probably  she 
had  heard  her  mother  talking,  and  it  was  not  the  first  time 
that  Jessie  had  caught  from  the  mouths  of  little  children  of 
the  very  poor  fragments  of  wisdom,  showing  a  bitter  and 
cynical  knowledge  of  the  world,  which  Jessie  herself  could 
scarcely  appreciate. 

"  Your  things  are  at  the  pawnshop  ?"  she  asked ;  for  she 
knew  that  these  matters  are  talked  of  with  a  directness  and 
absence  of  shame  among  the  destitute  to  which  she  had  had 
some  difficulty  at  first  in  accustoming  herself. 

The  child  nodded  and  glanced  round  the  empty  rooms. 

"  How  much  do  they  amount  to  altogether  ?" 

"  Eighteen  dollars  and  thirty  cents,"  said  the  child,  prompt- 
ly.    "  The  last  thirty  cents  was  for  Nellie's  shoes." 

"  Will  they  deliver  them  here,  or  do  you  have  to  fetch 
them  V 

"  Have  to  fetch  them." 

"  Well,  here  are  twenty  dollars,  and  five  dollars  more  in 
case  you  need  anything  that  has  to  be  paid  for,"  and  as  she 
gave  the  child  the  money  she  had  no  misgivings  that  it  would 
not  be  properly  spent.  "Indeed,  there  are  some  things  that 
I  want  you  to  get.  You  must  go  and  buy  a  broom  and  a 
scrubbing-brush  and  some  soap  to  scrub  the  floor  —  you 
know  the  kind  of  brush  I  mean  ?"  The  child  nodded  again. 
"  And  have  you  a  pail  ?" 

"  We've  got  that  one,"  said  the  child,  pointing  to  one  which 
stood  in  a  corner. 

"  Will  it  hold  water  ?" 

"  If  you  don't  fill  it  too  high  up." 

"  Well,  it  will  do,  I  dare  say.  Now,  when  the  doctor  comes 
I  want  you  to  ask  him  whether  it  is  safe  to  scrub  the 
rooms,  or  whether  the  damp  would  be  bad  for  your  mother. 
Do  you  understand  ?  If  he  says  it  would  be  bad,  then  just 
sweep  them  out;  but  if  he  will  let  you,  give  the  floors  and 


my  sister's  keeper  161 

wood-work  a  good  scrubbing  with  soap  and  hot  water.  Do 
that  before  you  get  the  things  from  the  pawnshop.  I  would 
not  give  the  children  "  (and  there  was  no  sense  of  incongru- 
ity in  speaking  to  this  little  thing  of  eight  years  as  to  a  grown- 
up woman  of  the  "  children  ")  "  anything  more  to  eat  yet. 
Wait  until  the  doctor  comes,  and  tell  him  what  they  have  had ; 
show  him  the  things  there,  and  ask  him  if  you  had  not  better 
cook  a  piece  of  the  steak  for  their  dinner.  But,  child,  you 
have  not  had  anything  to  eat  yourself  yet !"  Jessie  sudden- 
ly remembered. 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  the  girl ;  but  she  cast  an  almost 
wolfish  glance  into  the  corner  where  her  cup  stood  on  the 
floor,  with  the  big  slice  of  bread  on  the  top  of  it. 

"  You  are  a  brave  little  thing,"  and  Jessie  laid  her  hand  on 
the  rough,  brown  head.  But  the  child  only  looked  up  at  her 
with  surprise  in  her  eyes. 

Jessie  went  back  to  the  inner  room,  Lizzie  following  silent- 
ly, and  pressed  the  sick  woman's  hand. 

"  I  will  be  back  to-morrow,  and  meanwhile  Lizzie  and  the 
doctor  will  take  care  of  you."  And  the  thin  lips  moved  in 
what  Jessie  knew  was  meant  for  a  blessing. 

"  Good-bye  !"  she  said  to  Lizzie,  stroking  the  child's  head. 

"  Good-bye !"  replied  the  other,  simply,  and  Jessie  knew 
there  was  no  need  for  the  child  to  put  her  gratitude  into 
words.  But  the  second  girl,  Nellie,  came  running  up,  and, 
clutching  Jessie's  dress  with  both  her  hands,  put  up  a  wet  and 
crumby  mouth  to  be  kissed.  Jessie  caught  her  up  and  kissed 
her,  and  saw  that  she  left  a  tear  on  the  dirty  little  cheek  as 
she  did  so.  The  smallest,  a  mere  fragment  of  humanity  in  the 
middle  of  the  bare  floor,  only  sat  and  pinched  the  india-rub- 
ber cat. 

Sinking  back  into  a  corner  of  the  brougham  as  she  started 
home,  Jessie  ran  over  in  her  mind  the  things,  in  the  way  of 
bedding  and  clothes  for  the  children,  that  she  would  bring 
from  the  house  or  buy  before  her  visit  on  the  following  day. 
Occupied  with  these  thoughts,  and  full  of  the  pathos  of  the 
scene  which  she  had  just  left,  she  scarcely  noticed  which  way 
the  carriage  was  going.  For  the  time  the  strike  was  forgot- 
ten, until  suddenly  there  broke  upon  her  ears  the  roar  of 
11 


162  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

voices,  heard  from  a  few  squares  away,  as  the  crowd  gathered 
by  the  loop  greeted  some  incident  of  the  conflict.  Jessie  now 
became  aware  that  Wilson,  in  bravado,  had  taken  in  returning 
a  route  which  led  more  nearly  through  the  centre  of  town 
than  that  which  he  had  followed  earlier  in  the  day.  Through 
the  glass  in  front  of  her  Jessie  could  see  that  there  was  a  con- 
siderable crowd  assembled  at  the  next  corner,  and  a  minute 
later  the  carriage  was  swinging  round  the  same  corner,  with  a 
wall  of  men  on  either  side. 

As  soon  as  Wilson  had  turned  the  corner  he  found  himself 
confronted  by  the  two  cars  which  had  been  derailed  some  fif- 
teen minutes  before.  The  horses  had  grown  accustomed  to 
the  electric  cars  when  moving  peaceably  on  the  tracks  ;  but 
two  cars  thrown  sideways  across  the  road  were  a  new  thing 
to  them,  and,  as  their  driver  tried  to  slow  them  dowm,  they 
showed  evident  signs  of  alarm  at  the  obstacle  in  front.  Tak- 
ing in  the  situation  rapidly,  Wilson  had  concluded  that  there 
was  room  enough  to  pass  on  the  right  side  of  the  street  be- 
tween the  front  platform  of  the  foremost  car  and  the  side- 
walk, and  determined  to  put  the  horses  through  there — at 
least,  the  strikers  should  not  see  him  turn  round.  If  there  had 
been  no  other  element  to  be  taken  into  account  but  the  ob- 
stacle of  the  cars  themselves,  he  would  probably  have  suc- 
ceeded in  holding  the  horses  while  he  steered  them  past.  But 
at  this  moment  the  crowd  recognized  the  carriage,  and  imme- 
diately a  roar  arose  from  both  sides  of  the  street  which,  add- 
ed  to  the  unknown  danger  of  the  obstruction  in  front  of 
them,  so  terrified  the  horses  that  they  commenced  plunging. 
At  the  same  time  two  missiles  were  thrown  from  somewhere 
in  the  crowd — one  an  apple,  which  struck  the  wood-work  of 
the  carriage  so  close  to  the  window  that  the  pane  was  spat- 
tered with  juice,  and  the  other  a  stone  which,  as  Jessie  could 
see,  came  perilously  near  to  hitting  Wilson  as  he  sat  on  the 
box. 

The  situation  was  critical.  The  horses  continued  to  plunge 
and  rear,  while  Wilson,  with  his  voice  and  occasional  light 
touches  of  the  whip,  strove  to  bring  them  to  their  senses.  It 
seemed  to  Jessie  as  if  every  moment  would  be  the  last — as  if 
in  the  next  instant  the  horses  would  surely  break  from  all  re- 


my  sister's  keeper  163 

straint  and  dash  either  into  the  yelling  crowd  upon  the  side- 
walk or  against  the  barricade  in  front.  But  as  high-bred 
horses  will  (for  horses  differ  in  their  reasoning  power  in  mo- 
ments of  danger  almost  as  men  do,  and  it  is  in  crises  that 
both  show  the  blood  that  is  in  them),  even  in  their  terror,  the 
beasts  recognized  the  familiar  voice  of  authority.  They 
plunged  and  reared,  now  jerking  the  brougham  violently  for- 
ward for  a  few  feet  and  then  almost  as  suddenly  backing.  At 
the  end  of  some  minutes,  while  the  mob  shrieked  itself  hoarse, 
the  carriage  had  scarcely  moved  from  its  original  position, 
except  that  it  had  worked  a  few  feet,  perhaps,  nearer  to  the 
right  side  of  the  road,  on  which  lay  the  only  chance  of  pass- 
ing the  obstacle  ahead. 

Suddenly  a  figure,  different  in  dress  and  manner  from  the 
mass  of  the  strikers,  pushed  through  from  the  sidewalk  to 
the  roadway  and  advanced  towards  the  carriage.  It  was 
Blakely.  Keeping  an  eye  on  the  horses,  he  opened  the  car- 
riage door. 

"  Be  perfectly  cool,"  he  said  ;  "  but  you  had  better  get  out. 
Wait  till  the  horses  back  again.  Give  me  you  left  hand,  and 
step  out  quickly,  when  I  say  so,  on  your  right  foot — mind, 
your  right  foot." 

She  leaned  forward  and  gave  him  her  left  hand,  which  he 
took  in  his,  as  she  was  bidden.  A  moment  later  the  horses 
backed  again. 

"  Now  1"  said  he,  sharply.  She  jumped  lightly  out,  while 
he  slipped  his  right  arm  round  her  waist  to  steady  her,  and 
drew  her  away  from  the  carriage  door,  which,  still  holding  her 
left  hand  in  his,  he  then  reached  out  to  and  shut.  It  was  only 
just  in  time  ;  or  perhaps  the  click  of  the  closing  door  was  the 
last  straw  which  broke  the  self-restraint  of  the  frightened  an- 
imals.    They  plunged  wildly  forward. 

"  Oh,  he'll  be  killed !"  screamed  Miss  Holt,  as  Wilson 
threw  his  whole  weight  on  to  the  right  rein. 

There  was  a  sudden  sway  of  the  carriage  and  a  breaking  of 
the  front  ranks  of  the  crowd  as  the  horses  dashed  almost  on 
to  the  sidewalk ;  a  sharp,  resonant  crash  as  the  axle  of  the  left 
front  wheel  struck  the  corner  of  the  car.  The  jar  made  the 
carriage  rock  till  it  seemed  as  if  the  coachman  must  lose  his 


164  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

seat,  but  he  did  not.  An  instant  later  he  was  as  firm  and 
square-shouldered  as  ever,  talking  soothingly  to  the  horses, 
which  were  plunging  again  in  the  open  roadway  beyond  the 
barricade.  It  was  admirably  done,  and  the  yells  of  the  crowd 
sounded  more  like  a  cheer  as,  with  the  whole  space  of  the  road 
ahead  of  him,  Wilson  quickly  brought  the  spirited  animals 
under  control. 

"He's  all  right,"  said  Blakely.  And  Miss  Holt  drew  a 
long  breath  of  relief.  Then  she  realized  the  conspicuous- 
ness  of  her  position,  standing,  Blakely  holding  her  hand,  in 
the  middle  of  the  road,  with  the  eyes  of  all  the  crowd  on 
either  side  fixed  upon  them.  But  her  companion  drew  her 
arm  deliberately  under  his,  and  walked  to  the  sidewalk,  while 
the  men  in  front  fell  sheepishly  to  either  side,  and  made  way 
for  the  pair. 

"  I  am  almost  mean  enough,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  as 
they  pushed  through  the  throng,  "to  wish  that  the  carriage 
had  been  smashed — not  so  as  to  hurt  Wilson,  of  course,  but 
so  that  if  there  had  been  anybody  inside,  they  would  have 
been  hurt.  Then  I  should  have  the  credit  of  having  saved 
you  from  something." 

"  But  you  did,"  she  replied  ;  "  the  danger  was  just  as  great, 
even  if  it  ended  all  right.  I  am  as  grateful  as  if  you  had 
saved  my  life." 

"  And  there  is  only  one  thing  in  all  this  world  which  1 
should  prize  more  than  your  gratitude,"  he  said,  speaking 
still  more  low. 

She  did  not  reply,  and  he  thought  it  best  to  change  the 
subject. 

"  You  will  walk  home,  will  you  not  ?  Please,"  he  plead- 
ed, "  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  escorting  you.  It  might 
be  unsafe  to  get  into  the  carriage  again.  The  horses  are 
frightened,  and  we  do  not  know  how  much  the  carriage  is 
hurt." 

"  I  suppose  I  had  better  walk,"  she  said,  doubtfully. 

"  Let  me  leave  you  in  here  a  minute,"  as  he  stopped  before 
the  open  door  of  a  store,  "  until  I  go  and  tell  him  that  you 
will  walk." 

She  stepped  up  obediently  on  the  step  of  the  store  in  ques- 


165 

tion,  while  he  released  her  arm  and  left  her,  to  push  his  way 
to  the  street  again.  Wilson  had  turned  the  horses,  and  was 
walking  them  quietly  back,  looking  for  his  mistress  in  the 
crowd.  As  she  stepped  up  into  the  doorway  he  saw  her,  and 
drew  up  to  the  curb  just  as  Blakely  emerged  from  the  throng. 

"  That  was  splendidly  done,"  said  the  latter,  cordially,  and 
AVilson  touched  his  hat  modestly  in  acknowledgment  of  the 
compliment.  "But  Miss  Holt  thinks  she  would  rather  walk 
home,  and  asked  me  to  tell  you  to  drive  on." 

"  It's  all  right,  Mr.  Blakely,"  said  Wilson,  who  was  reluc- 
tant to  give  the  strikers  the  comfort  even  of  the  knowledge 
that  they  had  interfered  with  the  drive ;  "  she  may  just  as 
well  let  me  take  her  as  not." 

"  She's  a  little  frightened,"  Blakely  replied,  "  and  it  is  bet- 
ter that  she  should  walk  a  bit." 

He  stooped  over  to  look  at  the  axle. 

"The  carriage  isn't  hurt,  is  it?" 

"  Oh  no,  sir !"  said  Wilson,  in  a  tone  of  contempt,  scarcely 
deigning  even  to  lean  over  on  his  box  enough  to  look  down 
at  the  wheel  which  had  suffered  the  collision ;  "  just  a  little 
paint,  that  is  all,  sir." 

That  appeared  to  be  the  case. 

"  Pretty  well  built,"  remarked  Blakely,  and,  nodding  to  Wil- 
son, he  returned  to  Miss  Holt,  who,  from  her  position  on  the 
door-step,  waved  her  hand  to  the  coachman  as  he  whipped  up  the 
horses  and  swung  them  round  with  rather  unnecessary  dash,  to 
show  the  onlookers  that  neither  he  nor  the  horses  had  suffered. 

It  was  impossible  that  Jessie  should  not  tell  herself  how 
handsome  Blakely  was  as  he  turned  his  laughing  face  up  to 
her  again,  and  how  enormously  to  advantage  he  appeared  in 
contrast  with  the  men  around  him.  He  had  borne  himself, 
too,  admirably,  with  just  that  self-possession  in  the  moment 
of  danger  which  appeals  most  directly  to  a  woman's  admira- 
tion. She  thought  of  him  as  he  had  been  in  the  theatre  on 
that  first  evening,  and  it  was  with  a  return  of  the  old  em- 
barrassed feeling  of  subjection  that  she  placed  her  hand  again 
on  his  arm  as  he  pushed  a  path  for  them  through  the  peo- 
ple. He,  conscious  perhaps  of  his  advantage,  talked  playfully 
of  other  things. 


166  MEN   BORN   EQUAL 

"  How  on  earth  did  you  come  to  be  driving  down-town  ?" 
he  asked.     "It  is  awfully  risky." 

"  I  know.  Papa  told  me  not  to.  But  there  was — there 
was  an  important  engagement  over  on  the  West  Side  which 
I  had  to  keep." 

"An  important  engagement  with  the  dress-maker?"  he 
asked. 

"  No ;  that  is  mean.  Women  sometimes  do  other  things 
besides  see  a  dress-maker." 

"  Hats,  perhaps  ?"  he  asked. 

"It  was  a  very  —  important  —  engagement,"  she  replied, 
"  which  had  nothing  to  do  with  any  part  of  my  costume." 

"  Then  I  give  it  up,"  he  said.  "  When  is  a  woman  not  a 
woman  ?  When  she  has  important  engagements  which  have 
no  reference  to  dress." 

So  they  talked  nonsense  until  they  reached  a  place  where 
the  sidewalks  were  not  crowded.  Then  she  withdrew  her 
arm  from  his  and  walked  on  by  his  side.  Presently  he 
said: 

"  Now,  as  I  consider  myself  your  keeper  for  the  morning 
— heigho  !  that  it  is  only  for  a  morning ! — I  am  going  to  or- 
der you  about." 

She  pursed  up  her  lips  and  gazed  up  into  his  face  with  an 
affected  air  of  meek  and  childish  attention,  folding  her  hands 
in  front  of  her.  But  he  looked  as  if  he  were  going  to  kiss  her 
then  and  there ;  so  she  dropped  her  hands  and  asked,  in  her 
natural  tone  : 

"  I  beg  your  lordship's  pardon  ?" 

He  laughed.  "  The  first  thing  that  I  am  going  to  do  is  to 
leave  you  and  send  you  home  in  a  hack.  You  won't  half  ap- 
preciate the  heroism  of  it ;  but  you  must  be  tired,  and  you 
have  walked  enough." 

She  was  aware  now  that  the  strain  of  the  events  of  the 
morning  had  made  itself  felt ;  so  she  offered  no  protest. 

"  We  will  go  over  this  way  to  the  station,"  he  continued, 
"  where  we  shall  find  plenty  of  vehicles  of  all  sorts.  We  will 
select  the  shabbiest  possible  hack  with  the  most  sheep-like 
horses.     And  then — and  then  I  will  say  good-bye." 

Arriving  within  view  of  the  row  of  carriages  which  were 


MY    SISTER  S    KEEPER  167 

drawn  up  in  a  single  file  along  the  side  of  the  road,  he  stopped 
and  examined  them. 

"I  think,"  he  said,  deliberately,  "that  those  gray  things, 
which  may  or  may  not  be  horses,  in  the  second  hack  from  this 
end  are  sufficiently  peaceful.  They  might  fall  down ;  but  they 
couldn't  do  anything  more  than  that." 

So  they  crossed  the  street,  and,  after  resisting  the  impor- 
tunities of  a  score  of  other  drivers  who  vociferously  volun- 
teered to  drive  him  and  "  his  lady  "  to  "  any  part  of  the  city 
for  one  dollar,"  he  succeeded  in  installing  her  in  the  vehicle 
in  question.  He  held  the  door  open  while  the  hackman  busied 
himself  with  ostentatious  speed  in  removing  the  horses'  blank- 
ets and  lifting  the  weight  to  which  they  were  hitched  up  to 
the  box. 

"  I  am  very,  very  grateful  to  you,"  she  said,  earnestly,  as 
she  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  And  do  you  suppose  that  I  am  not  very,  very  happy  ?"  he 
asked,  as  he  took  and  held  it. 

"  Where  to,  sir  ?"  asked  the  driver. 

"  To  Mr.  Holt's,  in  Jefferson  Avenue,"  replied  Blakely,  and 
then,  leaning  into  the  carriage,  he  said,  in  a  voice  which  was 
almost  a  whisper : 

"  I  suppose  you  will  be  angry  with  me,  but  do  you  know 
that  you  are  the  sweetest  and  most  beautiful  woman  that  the 
Almighty  has  made  ?" 

It  was  a  moment  before  she  could  reply. 

"  You  know  that  I  am  too  grateful  to  be  angry  at  anything. 
But  that  is  not  fair." 

None  the  less  she  smiled,  and  she  knew  that  her  eyes  said 
to  him  that  she  was  glad.  He  closed  the  door  quietly  without 
taking  his  eyes  from  hers,  and  raised  his  hat  slowly  as  the 
carriage  pulled  out  and  drove  away. 

Arriving  home,  Jessie  had  barely  time  to  get  ready  to  re- 
ceive Mrs.  Tisserton.  At  the  lunch-table  she  told  the  story 
of  the  morning's  adventure.  Miss  Willerby  received  it  rather 
coldly,  while  Mrs.  Tisserton  looked  at  Jessie,  and  said  : 

"  Take  care  !  Do  you  remember  what  I  wrote  you  of  Mr. 
Blakely  when  you  were  at  Mentone  ?" 

Jessie  did  remember — "  Pity  the  girl  who  finds  herself  in 


168  MEN   BORN   EQUAL 

his  power,  as  doubtless  many  girls  have  done  before,  and 
probably  more  will  in  the  future." 

But  Miss  Caley  said  it  was  just  splendid.  She  loved  those 
sort  of  things  ;  they  were  so  romantic. 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  Mr.  Barry  would  save  me  !"  she  sighed. 
"  Can't  I  take  the  brougham,  Jessie,  and  tell  him  where  to 
wait  for  the  catastrophe  ?  But  probably  he  would  only  run 
away  when  the  time  came.  Nothing  heroic  ever  happens  to 
me  !"  she  complained,  forlornly.  "  I  have  never  been  rescued 
by  anybody — except  when  1  was  about  thirteen,  and  Willie 
Maxey  pulled  me  out  of  the  ice  when  I  was  skating.  We 
made  ever  so  much  of  that,  and  it  was  lots  of  fun.  But  we 
both  knew  that  the  water  was  only  two  feet  deep,  and  there 
was  no  possible  danger  of  anything  except  a  cold — and  the 
fishes.  And  he  didn't  even  save  me  from  that  (the  cold,  I 
mean),  because  I  had  it  horribly — oh,  for  weeks  afterwards !" 


XIV 

AN    EVIL    GOD 

Horace  Marsh,  returning  to  town  on  the  following  day, 
read  an  account  of  the  incident  in  the  morning  paper.  The 
Democratic  organ,  in  the  paragraph  which  it  devoted  to  the 
affair,  made  no  mention  of  any  hostile  demonstration  on 
the  part  of  the  strikers  as  having  contributed  to  the  panic  of 
the  horses.  It  appeared  that  they  had  simply  been  alarmed 
"by  the  derailed  cars  and  the  crowd  on  the  sidewalk."  The 
courage  and  coolness  shown  by  Mr.  Marshal  Blakely,  "the 
well-known  young  society  man  who  is  a  close  friend  of  the 
Holt  family,"  were  gracefully  commented  upon ;  and  Horace 
wondered  what  courage  or  coolness  was  required  to  help  a 
young  woman  out  of  a  carriage  which  was  standing  still.  And 
why  had  this  good-luck  fallen  to  Blakely  of  all  men  in  the 
world  ?  Why  could  not  chance  have  thrown  the  opportunity 
in  the  way  of  Horace  Marsh  himself  ? 

Mr.  Holt,  receiving  a  more  veracious  account  of  the  episode 
from  his  daughter,  sent  Blakely  a  short  note  of  thanks  "  for 
the  assistance  which  you  rendered  to  my  daughter — who,  I 
need  not  say,  is  very  dear  to  me — at  what  was  undoubtedly  a 
moment  of  danger.  I  shall  always,"  he  added  " — as  will  Miss 
Holt  —  feel  under  obligations  to  you  for  the  courage  and 
promptness  with  which  you  acted." 

Blakely  received  this  letter  on  his  arrival  at  his  office  on 
the  following  morning.  Having  read  it,  and  not  being  over- 
burdened with  business,  he  swung  his  chair  round  to  the  win- 
dow, put  his  feet  up  on  the  sill,  and  set  himself  to  think  it 
over. 

Was  he  in  love  with  Miss  Holt  ?  He  was  making  love  to 
her,  certainly.     That  was  his  habit — a  habit  from  which  he 


170  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

never  permitted  himself  to  depart  in  the  case  of  any  woman 
who  was  reasonably  young  and  sufficiently  good-looking. 
"  The  chief  business  in  life  of  the  youth  of  either  sex  is  think- 
ing of  the  youth  of  the  other  sex."  The  accuracy  of  this  as 
a  maxim  of  universal  applicability  may  be  debatable;  but 
with  Marshal  Blakely  certainly  no  other  interest  engrossed  so 
much  of  his  time  and  abilities  as  did  the  making  of  love.  He 
was  not  without  other  interests,  for  he  was  fond  of,  and  as  a 
rule  proficient  in,  most  of  the  things  in  which  men  delight. 
He  rode  well,  was  a  good  shot,  and  a  keen  fisherman.  But 
there  was  no  sport  which  appealed  to  so  many  sides  of  his 
nature  and  gratified  him  so  fully  as  the  pursuit  of  woman. 
There  was  pleasure  undoubtedly  in  killing  a  salmon  or  a  deer. 
But  at  best  it  was  not  a  contest  with  one's  equal.  Moreover, 
when  you  killed  them  they  were  dead;  and  there  was  an 
end. 

Not  that  he  had  ever  deliberately  reasoned  it  out  with 
himself  in  these  terms.  He  accepted  the  facts  as  he  found 
them,  and  went  where  the  best  sport  was. 

He  was  not  the  typical  villain  of  the  novelist,  nor  the 
typical  operatic  villain ;  only  a  young  man  in  ordinary  life, 
rather  better  equipped  than  the  majority  of  his  fellows — 
firstly,  by  nature,  and,  secondly,  by  practice — for  the  con- 
quest of  women.  He  has  his  counterparts  in  every  com- 
munity. In  the  opera  —  no  matter  whether  the  maiden  is 
married  to  the  villain  with  the  bass  voice  or  to  the  gentle 
swain  with  the  tenor;  no  matter  whether  the  ceremony  oc- 
curs in  the  village  market-place  among  the  pealing  of  bells 
and  the  pelting  of  paper  flowers,  or  in  the  bandit's  cave,  with 
only  the  banditti  for  witnesses  and  an  unfrocked  friar  for 
priest — it  is  always  on  the  wedding  ceremony  that  the  cur- 
tain falls.  In  real  life  there  is  an  "  afterwards."  And  this 
was  the  trouble  in  regard  to  Miss  Holt. 

Blakely  had  made  love  to  many  women,  but  had  never 
been  formally  engaged  to  be  married.  Precisely  how  the 
affairs  ended  was  known  only  to  the  women  and  to  him. 
Some  of  those  to  whom  he  had  laid  siege  had  been  mar- 
riageable ;  others  were  not,  under  a  constitution  of  society 
which   refuses   to  recognize  polyandry.      But   Blakely   had 


AN    EVIL    GOD  171 

never  been  consciously  near  to  the  danger  of  falling  into 
wedlock.  Some  day  he  might ;  but  why  do  it  yet  a  while  ? 
In  the  first  place,  he  had  never  felt  any  disposition  to  become 
seriously — or,  at  least,  sufficiently — in  love.  Not  that  there 
were  not  admirable  women — women  in  whose  society  he  had 
taken  much  delight  for  a  while — women  in  whose  possession 
he  professed  to  consider  other  men  very  lucky.  There  were 
beautiful  women,  witty  women,  delightful  women,  intoxicat- 
ing women.  As  Blakely  would  have  put  it  himself :  For  a 
man  who  wants  a  wife,  there  are  plenty  of  women  who  will 
make  wives  altogether  too  good  for  him.  For  himself,  he 
did  not  want  a  wife.  Pushed  to  an  ultimate  analysis  of 
his  feelings,  he  would  probably  have  confessed  that  he  had 
been  so  accustomed  to  dissipate  his  affections  over  many — 
so  habituated  to  the  pleasure  of  pursuit  and  change — that  he 
doubted  his  own  ability  to  concentrate  his  regard  now  and 
to  the  end  on  any  one.  He  had  so  practised  playing  with 
the  deepest  emotions,  used  the  solemnest  vows  so  lightly, 
had  so  feigned  every  form  of  enslavement  and  self-abasement 
and  self  -  surrender,  that  he  could  not  imagine  himself  as 
really  enslaved — carried  away  by  real  emotion  and  breathing 
vows  in  earnest.  How  often  had  he  sworn  that  his  whole 
life  lay  in  winning  one  woman's  favor  !  And  how  soon 
afterwards  had  he  yawned  and  gone  elsewhere  !  Could  it 
be  that  the  issue  would  ever  arise  on  which  his  life  was,  in 
fact,  at  stake  ?  He  could  not  conceive  of  himself  as  being  so 
absorbed  in  one  woman  that  forever  after  all  others  would 
lose  their  attractions. 

He  often  wondered  whether  he  was  an  exception  in  this. 
There  were  happy  homes,  of  course.  For  that  matter,  there 
were  churches.  Both  were  eminently  desirable  institutions 
for  the  preservation  of  society.  But  when  you  came  to  look 
at  particulars  and  individuals,  it  was  undoubted  that  devout 
church-members  sometimes  were  backsliders.  And  he  knew 
married  men  of  his  acquaintance,  men  most  happily  and 
charmingly  married,  who  did  not  impress  him,  when  out  of 
the  society  of  their  wives,  as  impervious  to  the  attractions 
of  other  women.  And  with  married  women — women  who 
were  apparently  model  wives — it  had  not  been  his  experience 


172  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

that  devotion  to  a  husband  necessarily  excluded  the  possi- 
bility of  a  second  passion.  If  it  were  possible  to  look  into  the 
very  souls  of  some  of  these — say,  a  hundred  carefully  selected 
of  the  most  exemplary  husbands  and  wives — what  would  be 
found  there  ?  Were  they  really,  in  their  innermost  hearts, 
happier  for  the  ties  which  bound  them  ? 

Society  was  happier,  of  course.  But  that  was  not  the 
question.  It  was  incontestably  necessary  that  people  in  gen- 
eral should  marry.  But  how  about  the  particular  person  ? 
Was  it  not  only  a  sacrificing  of  the  individual  for  the  pub- 
lic good?  "The  individual  withers,  and  the  world  is  more 
and  more." 

Supposing  a  man  (himself,  for  instance),  of  whom  a  woman 
need  never  be  ashamed,  to  have  married  a  woman  as  beauti- 
ful and  charming  as  you  please  ;  supposing  them  to  be  well- 
off  in  a  worldly  way,  and  with  all  desirable  surroundings ; 
supposing,  then,  the  excitement  of  pursuit  and  the  pride  of 
possession  to  have  passed,  what  would  be  their  life  after- 
wards ?  Understanding  them,  of  course,  both  to  have  strength 
enough  and  sense  enough  to  appear  happy,  and  to  respect 
the  conventionalities,  what  would  be  their  true  inward  feel- 
ings? It  was  a  question  which  he  would  have  very  much 
liked  to  have  had  answered.  But,  so  far,  the  evidence  which 
he  had  seen  had  been  confusingly  contradictory.  The  bulk 
of  the  evidence,  that  which  appeared  on  the  surface,  and 
which  was  contained  in  the  professions  of  married  people, 
was  largely  on  one  side.  But  one-half  of  this  evidence  was  at 
best  open  to  a  suspicion  of  being  biassed.  Such  fragmentary 
testimony  as  came  to  him  on  the  other  side  from  his  own  ex- 
periences was  sometimes  startlingly  positive  and  unpreju- 
diced. 

As  for  Miss  Holt,  he  had  set  himself,  just  like  the  villain  in 
the  play,  deliberately  to  win  her.  He  modestly  believed  that 
he  could  succeed — that  he  had,  in  fact,  succeeded.  Luck  had 
been  on  his  side.  He  had  played  boldly,  and  the  thing,  so 
far,  had  gone  far  more  easily  than  he  had  anticipated.  And 
what  then  ?  Did  he  wish  to  marry  her  ?  She  was  rich,  cer- 
tainly ;  but  he  had  means  enough.  As  her  husband  he 
would,  from  a  worldly  point  of  view,  hold  an  eminently  de- 


AN    EVIL    GOD  173 

sirable  position.  If  not  exactly  "the  sweetest  and  most 
beautiful  woman  that  the  Almighty  had  made  "  (and  he  won- 
dered how  often  he  had  used  that  particular  phrase  to  vari- 
ous women — a  phrase  which,  he  flattered  himself,  was  rather 
neat,  and  which  he  had  never  yet  known  a  woman  to  resent), 
she  was  certainly  a  beautiful  as  well  as  a  very  high  type 
of  woman.  All  this  he  understood.  But — ?  To  the  bach- 
elor the  land  beyond  the  altar  is  almost  as  unknown  and 
mysterious  as  the  land  beyond  the  grave ;  and,  for  purposes 
of  experiment,  marriage  has  practically  the  same  disadvan- 
tage as  death  of  being  irrevocable. 

And  if  he  did  not  mean  to  marry  her?  On  this  point  he 
pondered  considerably,  before  his  reverie  came  to  an  end,  as 
he  turned  Mr.  Holt's  letter  over  and  over  in  his  fingers. 
Oh,  well,  he  would  wait,  and  see  how  things  turned  out.  It 
was  not  a  situation  that  was  new  to  him,  and,  in  the  past, 
circumstances  had  worked  themselves  out  to  various  results  ; 
but  never,  so  far,  with  any  great  disaster  to  himself.  So  he 
would  wait.  He  would  not  show  himself  to  be  in  any  haste 
to  thrust  himself  upon  her.  It  would  do  no  harm  to  let  her 
wonder  for  a  day  or  two  why  he  did  not  call.  Meanwhile 
he  would  send  her  some  flowers,  with  a  polite  note  hoping 
that  she  was  none  the  worse  for  the  excitement  of  the  pre- 
vious day. 

To  Mr.  Holt  also  he  wrote  briefly,  thanking  him  for  his 
letter,  which,  Blakely  said,  attached  much  more  importance 
to  the  incident  than  the  facts  warranted.  The  service  which 
he  had  been  able  to  render  was  very  slight. 

Jessie  received  the  flowers  and  the  accompanying  note  on 
her  return  from  the  second  visit  to  Mrs.  Silling,  which  had 
been  made  in  a  hired  carriage  and  by  a  roundabout  route 
which  did  not  take  her  through  the  heart  of  the  city.  At 
the  sick  woman's  bedside  she  had  found  Dr.  Chinnery,  who 
proved  to  be  a  large,  hearty  man,  possessed  of  that  cheery 
manner  which  goes  so  far  to  inspire  courage  in  a  patient. 
Altogether,  Jessie  was  pleased  with  and  felt  confidence  in 
him. 

The  rooms  had  undergone  a  transformation.  Lizzie  had 
carried  out  her  orders  faithfully,  and  Jessie  saw  that  the  floor 


174  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

and  the  wood-work  had  been  well  scrubbed.  The  "things" 
had  been  recovered  from  the  pawnbroker,  including  a  table 
and  three  chairs,  a  large  tub  and  a  stool  to  set  it  on,  ironing- 
boards,  a  wringer,  and  flat-irons  of  various  sizes.  A  square 
of  cheap  carpet  was  on  the  floor  between  the  two  rooms, 
while  in  the  rear  one  a  large  mattress  with  a  couple  of  quilts 
lay  on  the  floor,  whereon  evidently  the  children  slept.  A 
number  of  small  articles — a  kettle  and  some  pitchers,  a  dish 
or  two,  some  plated  spoons  and  forks,  as  well  as  the  chil- 
dren's shoes,  were  arranged  in  their  proper  places,  and  Jessie 
was  moved  to  amazement  at  the  number  of  things  which  a 
pawnbroker  requires  from  the  poor  and  helpless  before  he 
will  advance  eighteen  dollars  and  thirty  cents. 

Mrs.  Silling  already  showed  signs  of  improvement,  turning 
her  head  without  effort,  and  being  able,  and  rather  too  will- 
ing, to  talk  in  a  weak  and  husky  voice.  The  doctor  laughed 
at  Jessie's  suggestion  that  a  trained  nurse  should  be  em- 
ployed to  look  after  the  patient. 

"  Oh,  she  is  just  run  down,"  he  said,  "  with  overwork  and 
worry.  If  you  were  in  her  condition,  Miss  Holt  (supposing 
it  to  be  possible  for  you  to  bring  yourself  to  it),  you  would 
need  not  only  one  nurse,  but  two.  As  soon  as  you  could  be 
moved  I  should  order  you  away  for  a  change  of  air — some- 
where in  the  South.  It  would  take  you  six  months  to  pull 
up.  But  with  these  people  it  is  different.  The  mere  revolu- 
tion from  hunger  and  cold  to  warmth  and  proper  nourish- 
ment, from  want  of  care  to  the  feeling  of  comfort  and  of 
being  looked  after,  is  change  enough  in  her  case.  It  is  more 
of  a  change  than  all  the  travel  or  dieting  could  bring  you. 
She  will  be  at  work  again  inside  of  two  weeks.  If  we  did 
need  a  nurse,"  he  added,  "  we  could  not  have  a  better  one 
than  little  Lizzie  here." 

"  I  saw  in  the  paper  this  morning,"  he  said,  at  another 
time,  "  that  you  had  some  trouble  yesterday  with  your  car- 
riage in  the  mob,  Miss  Holt.  It  was  on  your  way  home  from 
here,  I  suppose  ?  Well,  you  can  comfort  yourself  with  the 
knowledge  that  the  trip  was  worth  the  risk.  Forty-eight 
hours  later — perhaps,  even,  if  you  had  waited  until  to-day — 
it  would  have  been  too  late." 


AN    EVIL   GOD  175 

Jessie  did  not  reply,  but  her  heart  was  filled  with  anger 
against  the  conditions  of  society  which  made  it  possible  that 
the  life  of  this  woman  and  the  lives  of  her  three  children 
should  thus  be  left  in  the  centre  of  a  large  city,  with  wealth 
and  plenty  on  every  side,  to  the  accidental  intervention  of  a 
stranger  like  herself.  It  was  by  what  to  her  seemed  the 
merest  chance  that  Jessie  had  heard  of  the  family — a  friend 
of  one  of  the  house-maids  had  heard  of  their  condition  from 
another  friend,  and  the  story  had  been  casually  repeated  till 
it  had  reached  Miss  Holt ;  just  one  of  those  chances,  Jessie 
thought,  by  which  Providence  loves  to  work.  But  what 
were  the  churches  doing  ?  Had  they  really  "  no  use  for  poor 
folk  ?"  And  what  of  all  the  charitable  organizations  in  which 
Mrs.  Flail  was  so  benevolently  interested  ?  Was  it  nobody's 
business  to  see  that  women  and  children  did  not  die  of  hun- 
ger and  cold  ? 

Jessie  Holt  was  no  novice  in  charitable  work.  Often  be- 
fore had  she  been  filled  with  bitterness  at  the  apparent  pow- 
erlessness  of  organized  charity  to  cope  with  real  distress. 
But  during  this  last  week,  since  that  day  when  in  her  father's 
office  she  had  for  the  first  time  heard  from  another  mouth 
comments,  not  intended  for  her  ears,  on  her  own  extrava- 
gance— her  carriage  and  her  dresses — the  landscape  of  life 
had  somehow  arranged  itself  in  clearer  perspective  before 
her  eyes.  The  high  lights  were  sharper  and  the  shadows 
deeper.  Or,  rather,  it  was  no  longer  as  on  a  painted  canvas 
that  she  looked,  but  a  play,  a  Passion  play,  a  play  of  life  and 
death,  in  which  real  men  and  women  and  little  children 
moved  and  suffered  and  died — died  trampling  on  each  other, 
"  one-half  of  mankind  against  the  other  half."  And  of  those 
who  trampled  she  herself  was  one. 

Just  as  in  childhood  we  have,  each  of  us,  to  learn  our  indi- 
viduality, 

"So  rounds  he  to  a  separate  mind, 

From  whence  clear  memory  may  begin; 
As  thro'  the  frame  that  binds  him  in, 
His  isolation  grows  defined," 

as  we  find 

...  "I  am  not  what  I  see, 
And  other  than  the  things  I  touch ;" 


176  MEN    BOKN   EQUAL 

so  there  comes  to  all  of  us  later — all  of  us,  that  is,  who  have 
any  right  to  be  of  mankind  at  all — a  reverse  current  of  dis- 
covery, a  current  "  remerging  in  the  general  soul."  This  hu- 
manity from  which  we  had  thought  ourselves  distinct — we 
are  still  of  it.  These  men  and  women  around  us — they  are 
but  other  ourselves.  There  is  no  magic  circle  drawn  around 
our  own  small  personality.  Our  part  is  but  a  part  of  the 
common  life,  just  as  is  that  of  each  of  them.  We  are  our 
brother's  keeper,  and  our  sister's  and  her  children's. 

Mrs.  Silling  at  least  should  not  die  ;  and  as  for  Mrs.  Flail's 
organizations,  at  the  worst  here  were  two  recruits  for  the 
kindergarten.  So  Jessie  set  herself  to  unpack  the  great  bun- 
dle which  she  had  brought  in  the  carriage  with  her,  and 
which  the  hackman  had  carried  up -stairs  —  blankets  and 
sheets  for  the  sick  woman's  bed,  clothes  for  the  children, 
and  towels  and  all  manner  of  odds  and  ends  for  domestic 
uses — while  Dr.  Chinnery  looked  on  with  a  broad  smile  on 
his  wholesome  face,  and  Lizzie  moved  quietly  about,  taking 
each  article  in  its  turn  from  Miss  Holt's  hands,  and  folding  it 
up  and  setting  it  in  order  away. 

Throughout  the  morning  Lizzie  said  little,  except  when  she 
insisted  on  rendering  a  scrupulous  account  of  her  expendi- 
tures, and  offered  to  return  to  Jessie  the  four  dollars  and 
twenty-six  cents  which  remained.  When  Jessie  had  arrived 
the  girl  had  simply  nodded  in  an  indifferently  friendly  way, 
and  thereafter  remained  silent,  but  watchfully  ready  to  do 
whatever  was  needed  of  her.  A  stranger,  unaccustomed  to 
specimens  of  her  class,  would  have  said  that  she  was  curi- 
ously insensible  and  ungrateful.  But  Jessie  and  the  doctor 
knew  better,  and  had  the  former  wanted  thanks  those  of  the 
sick  woman,  contained  more  in  her  looks  and  the  pressure  of 
her  hands  than  in  words,  and  the  wet  but  demonstrative 
kisses  of  the  younger  children  would  have  sufficed. 

On  leaving  she  could  not  but  see  the  change  which  she 
had  brought  to  the  family,  nor  help  feeling  that  the  work 
which  she  had  done  was  good.  On  the  drive  home  she  was 
light-hearted,  and  looked  with  eager  interest  at  whatever 
caught  her  attention  on  the  journey.  Sombre  though  the 
background  of  her  thoughts  might  be,  there  was  light  and 


AN    EVIL   GOD  177 

color  in  the  foreground.  As  in  times  of  illness  the  perma- 
nent and  deep-seated  pain  may  be  forgotten  in  moments  of 
incidental  pleasure,  so  the  local  happiness  overlaid  and  ob- 
scured the  sadness  which  was  at  her  heart.  She  read  Blake- 
ly's  note,  and,  taking  off  her  gloves,  arranged  the  flowers  that 
he  sent  in  the  same  Rookwood  vase  as  had  carried  Marsh's 
American  Beauties  a  short  time  back,  humming  to  herself  the 
while,  and  bursting  into  short,  glad,  unconscious  snatches  of 
song.  Neither  of  her  guests  was  at  home ;  so  she  tripped 
up  the  broad  staircase,  still  singing  to  herself,  to  her  room, 
and,  having  taken  off  her  things,  and  finding  still  half  an  hour 
to  spare  before  luncheon,  sat  down  to  write  a  note  to  Mrs. 
Flail,  saying  that  she  had  two  candidates  for  admission  to 
the  kindergarten,  and  inquiring  what  formalities  of  a  fiscal 
or  other  kind  were  necessary  before  they  could  be  accepted. 

Meanwhile,  Marsh  sat  in  his  office  in  the  Metropolitan 
Block.  He  had  reported  to  the  General  on  his  return,  and 
had  given  in  outline  an  account  of  his  trip,  answering  many 
questions  as  to  the  tone  of  his  reception  at  one  place  and  an- 
other, and  what  this  or  that  prominent  Democrat  whom  Marsh 
had  met  had  said.  In  turn  Marsh  had  asked  questions  about 
the  strike,  and  about  the  outlook  of  the  campaign  in  the  city. 
General  Harter  was  something  more  than  hopeful,  and  well 
satisfied  with  himself  and  the  progress  of  events.  He  spoke 
in  unctuous,  well-rounded  periods,  as  if  already  delivering 
himself  from  the  august  elevation  of  the  gubernatorial  chair. 

This  over,  Horace  set  himself  conscientiously  to  pick  up 
the  threads  of  the  office  work  where  he  had  dropped  them, 
distressingly  conscious  the  while  of  the  difficulty  of  doing 
justice  to  a  legal  practice  and  a  political  campaign  concur- 
rently. Moreover,  he  was  in  no  mood  for  work.  He  wanted 
to  see  Jessie.  She  haunted  him.  Her  presence  was  around 
him,  by  his  desk,  as  he  wrote.  He  could  hear  her  voice  and 
see  her  face,  and  he  "  named  her  name  to  himself  silently." 
After  dinner  he  would  call ;  but  till  then  the  day  dragged 
wearily. 

At  last  he  was  there,  standing  with  Barry  (who  was  a  regu- 
lar caller  now)  on  the  door-step  of  the  house.  Yes,  the  ladies 
12 


178  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

were  at  home — and  Marsh  could  have  blessed  Thomas  for 
saying  so.  But  that  functionary  seemed  to  regard  the  fact 
as  not  at  all  out  of  the  common,  and  set  himself  with  his  cus- 
tomary archiepiscopal  solemnity  to  relieve  the  callers  of  their 
hats  and  coats  before  leading  them  to  the  drawing-room. 
Horace  was  conscious  that  his  heart  beat  almost  audibly  as 
he  entered  the  apartment,  where  he  saw  that  there  was  al- 
ready one  caller  sitting  with  the  women — Baldwin,  the  much 
becuffed  and  becollared  young  man  of  flaxen  hair. 

Miss  Holt  had  known  that  this  meeting  must  come.  The 
flowers  which  she  had  received  and  had  passed  on  to  Thomas 
were  a  sufficient  intimation  that  Marsh  proposed  to  endeavor 
to  retain  his  footing  in  the  household.  She  had  thought  at 
one  time  of  telling  Thomas  to  say  that  she  was  not  at  home 
when  Horace  called ;  but  she  shrank,  however  much  he  might 
merit  it,  from  making  the  servants  parties  to  the  knowledge 
of  his  disgrace.  It  was  best  to  face  the  meeting  when  it  came, 
and  to  let  him  understand  by  her  manner  that  she  knew  of 
his  treachery  and  valued  him  as  he  deserved. 

Her  greeting  now  was  entirely  courteous.  It  could  not 
have  been  otherwise.  Of  the  others  present,  Miss  Willerby 
alone  noticed  its  coldness,  and  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  the 
reason.  But  to  Horace  himself,  who  knew  how  impulsively 
and  frankly  glad  and  eager  her  usual  welcome  to  him  was — 
especially  when  he  had  chanced  to  be  away  for  some  days — 
and  who  had  so  looked  forward  to  her  quick  questionings 
about  his  trip,  it  was  as  if  a  sudden  blow  had  struck  him. 
By  the  time  that  he  had  shaken  hands  with  the  others,  Miss 
Holt  had  resumed  her  seat,  and,  with  her  back  half-turned  to 
him,  was  deep  in  conversation  with  Mr.  Baldwin,  while  that 
callow  gentleman,  amazed  at  the  unwonted  interest  which  his 
hostess  showed  in  him,  wondered  how  he  had  ever  thought 
Jessie  Holt  "  stuck  up." 

It  was  evident  that  she  did  not  propose  that  Horace 
should  catch  her  eye.  To  force  himself  upon  her  was  out  of  the 
question.  Moreover,  as  Miss  Caley  and  Barry  were  already 
deep  in  confidences  upon  the  sofa  in  the  corner,  Marsh  found 
himself  standing  alone  with  Miss  Willerby,  to  desert  whom 
would  have  been  impossible.     There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 


AN   EVIL    GOD  179 

sit  down  with  her.  That  experienced  young  woman  saw  that 
something  was  wrong,  and  saw  also  that  Horace  was  as  much 
bewildered  as  pained;  and  she  forgave  him  when  he  said 
that  he  had  been  "  very  well,  thank  you,"  in  reply  to  her 
question  whether  he  had  been  out  of  town.  She  strove  to 
maintain  the  semblance  of  an  animated  chat.  She  talked  of 
whatever  came  to  her,  and  he  said  "  no  "  and  "  yes  "  at  ran- 
dom ;  all  the  while  watching  Miss  Holt  and  wondering  — 
wondering — wondering. 

What  did  it  mean  ?  That  article  ?  Nonsense  ;  that  was  a 
week  ago,  and  his  letter  to  her  father  had  remedied  any  evil 
that  could  have  been  done  by  that.  Had  the  opposition  pa- 
pers been  maligning  him  since  he  went  away  ?  Possibly,  but 
he  would  have  heard  of  that  from  his  party  associates.  Some 
so-called  "  friend,"  then,  had  been  poisoning  her  mind  ?  But 
who  ?  Blakely  ?  That  was  scarcely  credible  ;  for  what  could 
Blakely  say  ?  Turn  it  which  way  he  would,  it  was  incompre- 
hensible, and  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  learn  the  truth  from 
her.  But  Pryce,  the  Englishman,  arrived,  and,  dividing  Miss 
Holt's  attention  with  Baldwin,  only  made  another  barrier 
around  her,  and  left  Horace  paired,  as  before,  with  Miss  Wil- 
lerby.  Then  the  Tissertons  came,  and  Baldwin  left ;  and 
Horace  found  himself  talking  to  Mrs.  Tisserton,  while  Miss 
Willerby  labored  with  "Jack."  Presently  that  curiously 
mannered  personage  arose  unceremoniously,  and,  deserting 
Miss  Willerby,  went  over  and  annexed  Baldwin's  vacated 
chair — a  thing  which  Horace  had  longed  to  do  for  half  an 
hour  past,  and  had  lacked  the  courage.  Horace  now  had  two 
ladies  on  his  hands.  Soon  Mr.  Pryce  rose  to  go.  Horace 
could  stand  it  no  lono-er.  He  would  take  the  Englishman's 
place,  and  compel  Miss  Holt  to  speak  to  him  at  least.  But  as 
he  got  up  from  his  chair  to  carry  out  this  resolution,  the  per- 
verse Barry,  who  until  that  moment  had  been  oblivious  to 
everything  except  Miss  Caley's  proximity,  saw  Marsh's  sudden 
uprising,  and,  taking  it  to  be  the  signal  for  departure,  stood  up 
also. 

Miss  Holt  saw  Barry  rise,  and  she  walked  as  far  as  the  door 
of  the  room  with  the  retiring  Englishman,  and,  smiling  her 
adieux  to  him,  moved  to  where  Barry  was  standing  without 


180 


MEN   BOEN    EQUAL 


turning  her  face  in  Horace's  direction — and  Horace  knew  in 
his  heart  that  she  did  it  purposely. 

"  What !  going  so  soon  ?"  she  asked  Barry,  sweetly. 

"  Is  it  soon  ?"  he  said.  "  I  know  it  seemed  soon  to  me  ;  but 
I  had  no  idea  that  anybody's  company  could  make  time  pass 
as  quickly  for  you  as  Miss  Caley's  makes  it  pass  for  me." 

"  Well,  I  don't  wonder  that  Mary  monopolizes  you  if  you 
say  things  like  that,"  replied  Miss  Holt. 

She  shook  hands  with  Barry,  and  then  turned  slowly  round, 
as  if  unaware  that  Horace  was  at  her  shoulder.  As  soon  as 
she  faced  him — 

"  Good-night,  Mr.  Marsh,"  she  said,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Good  -  night,"  he  said,  slowly.  But  in  answer  to  his 
questioning  gaze  she  only  looked  at  him  steadily,  as  if  he  had 
been  at  best  but  an  indifferent  acquaintance. 

It  was  a  raw,  cold  night.  The  Indian  summer,  it  seemed, 
was  breaking,  and  mist  hung  low  in  the  streets,  so  that  the 
houses  on  either  side  of  them,  as  they  walked,  were  no  more 
than  shapeless  masses  of  solidity,  and  the  electric  lights 
which  hung  suspended  at  the  crossings  of  the  streets  were 
surrounded  with  a  halo  of  pearl.  Marsh  felt  the  chill  of  the 
weather  in  his  bones,  and  turned  up  the  collar  of  his  coat  and 
thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets ;  but  Barry,  impervious  to 
climatic  influences,  whistled  aggressively  as  he  walked.  He 
was  deplorably  destitute  of  an  ear  for  music,  but  strove 
to  atone  in  vigor  for  lack  of  melody.  As  a  rule,  Barry's 
whistling  rather  entertained  Marsh,  who  would  amuse  him- 
self by  guessing  whether  his  friend  was  rendering  an  air  or 
only  improvising.  Now  the  noise  jarred  on  Marsh's  nerves, 
and  he  answered  briefly  to  such  commonplace  remarks  as  his 
companion  occasionally  blurted  out  between  whistles. 

When  they  were  settled  in  their  customary  places — Barry 
stretched  at  full  length  on  the  lounge  and  Horace  ensconced 
in  his  favorite  chair — it  was  impossible  that  the  latter,  after 
the  nights  of  hard  work  and  of  scanty  sleep  in  the  forlorn 
bedrooms  of  second-class  hotels,  should  be  entirely  unmoved 
by  the  grateful  sense  of  warmth  and  homelike  comfort.  The 
feeling  of  physical  well-being,  in  spite  of  his  mental  wretch- 
edness, prompted  him  to  be  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 


AN    EVIL    GOD  181 

"  It  is  an  amazing  world  !"  he  said. 

Barry,  being  in  love,  promptly  applied  the  remark  to  his 
own  circumstances.  Whatever  he  read  or  heard  now  bore 
significance  only  as  it  could  be  traced  to  a  connection  with 
her.  The  matter  in  the  newspapers — whether  it  related  to 
politics,  business,  sport,  or  crime — had  no  interest  unless  it 
dealt  with  affairs  feminine.  A  hint  at  a  woman  in  the  head- 
ing of  an  article  was  enough  to  commend  it  to  his  perusal. 
Even  the  price  of  wheat  was  meaningless,  except  in  so  far  as 
"wheat"  rhymed  with  "sweet,"  and  Mary  Caley  was  that. 

"  It  is  an  amazing  world  I"  he  replied.  "  A  month  ago — 
think  of  it!  a  month  ago — I  had  never  seen  her,  scarcely 
knew  that  she  existed ;  and  now—  Why,  it  seems  incredi- 
ble !" 

Marsh  forbore  to  make  even  an  allusion  to  Longfellow. 

"  Have  you  seen  Miss  Holt  often  lately?"  he  asked. 

"  Two  or  three  times  a  day,"  replied  Barry,  calmly. 

"  She  seemed  out  of  sorts  in  some  way  to-night,"  pursued 
Marsh,  craftily.     "  Has  anything  particular  happened  to  her?" 

"  Not  that  I  know  of.  Maybe  the  scare  of  yesterday  was 
too  much  for  her." 

"  Possibly ;"  but  Marsh  knew  better.  "  How  has  she  seemed 
when  you  have  seen  her  before  during  the  last  week  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know"  —  the  absurdity  of  supposing  that 
Barry  would  know  !  — "  about  as  usual.  Of  course  she 
hasn't  been  particularly  gay.  The  strike  would  account  for 
that."     He  was  abominably  obtuse. 

"  Has  that  man  Blakely  been  up  there  much  ?" 

"  No  ;  only  seen  him  once,  I  think." 

Evidently  nothing  was  to  be  gained  from  this  source ;  so 
Horace  relapsed  into  his  own  thoughts.  Barry  went  on  talk- 
ing, but  his  companion  paid  no  heed  to  him.  What  could  it 
be  ?  It  was  useless  conjecturing — conjecture  was  baffled  at 
the  outset.  How  was  he  to  find  out  ?  He  could  not  call — or 
thought  he  could  not— again.  Would  it  be  possible  to  write 
— to  word  a  letter  so  that  she  would  be  compelled  to  answer, 
without  any  danger  of  seeming  impertinent  and  giving  of- 
fence ?  He  turned  the  idea  over  and  over  in  his  mind,  phras- 
ing a  note  this  way  and  that.     Yes ;  probably  that  was  the 


182  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

best  thing  to  do.  He  would  write,  and  in  writing  would 
simply  ask  her  the  point-blank  question,  "  What  have  I  done  ?" 
It  was  a  relief  to  have  come  even  to  this  poor  resolution,  and 
he  would  execute  it  at  once ;  so  he  rose  from  his  chair. 

Barry  was  still  talking.  With  the  sobering  responsibility 
of  prospective  matrimony  upon  him,  he  had  worked  his  way 
round  to  a  discussion  of  his  financial  condition  and  a  bewail- 
ment  of  what  he  termed  his  lack  of  "  stick-to-it-ativeness  " 
in  business. 

"  I  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  the  main  thing  in  this  life  is  ad- 
vertising. Take  up  a  thing — no  matter  what — and  advertise 
— advertise — advertise  !  Keep  pounding  away  at  it !  It  is 
all  bosh  to  talk  about  not  wanting  your  name  in  the  papers. 
Name  in  the  papers  means  success.  Whether  you  have  a 
church,  or  a  school,  or  a  grog-shop — advertise  it !  Especially 
if  you  are  starting  out  as  a  young  man — advertise  !  If  I  had 
to  begin  life  again  in  a  new  place  I  would  commence  from 
the  first  day  to  call  attention  to  myself.  Wear  a  green  hat ; 
wear  your  coat  inside  out ;  don't  wear  a  necktie — do  any- 
thing that  nobody  else  does.  Wear  your  hair  long  or 
walk  with  a  skip  and  a  jump.  That's  the  stuff.  In  ten 
years  you'll  be  famous.  When  you  get  into  a  street-car 
everybody  will  tell  everybody  else  '  That's  Tompkins.'  You 
will  be  pointed  out  in  theatres  to  strangers  as  '  Tompkins,  one 
of  our  well-known  men.'  To  be  one  of  our  well-known  men 
nowadays  is  to  be  half-way  on  the  road  to  wealth.  Report- 
ers know  you,  and  they  always  mention  you  as  being  where- 
soever you  happen  to  be.  The  public  gets  to  know  your 
name,  and  those  who  are  not  acquainted  with  you  think  you 
must  be  a  devil  of  a  fellow.  Even  those  who  are  acquainted 
with  you  come  under  this  influence.  They  like  to  be  seen 
with  you  and  associated  with  yon.  People  want  your  name 
on  things.  Banks  give  you  credit.  Why,  national  reputa- 
tions have  been  made  in  this  country  by  wearing  no  neck- 
ties and  going  without  overcoats." 

Horace  laughed. 

"  As  usual,  in  what  you  say,  Barry,  it's  only  one-half  id- 
iocy. The  public  is  always  mixing  up  cause  and  effect.  Be- 
cause big  men  are  notorious,  therefore  they  think  that  the 


AN    EVIL    GOD  183 

man  who  is  notorious  is  big.  Because  genius  is  eccentric, 
eccentricity  shows  genius.  '  To  be  great  is  to  be  alone ;' 
and,  therefore,  to  be  alone  is  to  be  great.  The  public  has 
grown  so  accustomed  to  miracles  in  science,  to  inventions  which 
have  created  revolutions,  and  to  hearing  it  said  that  it  is  un- 
safe to  say  that  anything  is  impossible,  that  the  surface  im- 
possibility of  the  latest  and  craziest  scheme  is  its  surest  rec- 
ommendation.     Credo  quia  incredibile  /" 

"  That's  what !"  Barry  exclaimed.  "We  all  expect  the  un- 
expected now.  If  I  had  made  a  fool  of  myself  for  the  pub- 
lic benefit  once  a  week  for  the  past  five  years,  I  should  be  a 
big  man  now." 

"  Six  feet  two  ought  to  be  big  enough  as  it  is,"  Marsh 
suggested,  "  and  I  don't  know  what  you  have  to  growl  about. 
You  are  as  happy  just  now  as  a  man  can  be.  It  is  we  poor 
devils  who  work  hard,  as  hard  as  we  know  how,  and  only  look 
up  from  our  work  long  enough  to  see  that  everything  worth 
having  in  life  is  slipping  away  from  us — it  is  we  who  suffer." 

To  this  Barry  did  not  reply. 

"  Well,  I  have  got  to  write  a  letter,"  said  Marsh ;  and  he 
sat  himself  down  at  a  writing-table  in  the  corner.  He  hesi- 
tated a  minute,  and  then  wrote  boldly : 

"My  dear  Miss  Holt, — You  may  think  this  letter  an 
impertinence,  but  I  trust  that  you  will  not — at  least,  please 
understand  that  I  do  not  mean  it  as  such. 

"  It  was  impossible  for  me  to-night  not  to  see  that  some- 
thing had  happened  to  change  your  attitude  towards  me — to 
make  you  dislike  me,  which  I  have  hitherto  made  bold  to  be- 
lieve that  you  did  not  do.  This  is  no  time  for  me  to  tell 
you  how  much  your  like  or  dislike  means  to  me,  but  I  hope 
you  will  believe  me  when  I  say  that  I  am  utterly  at  a  loss  to 
guess  what  this  thing  may  be.  There  must,  I  am  sure,  be 
some  misunderstanding  "somewhere. 

"  Will  you  let  me  know  what  the  matter  is  ?  If  you  will 
tell  me  when  I  may  call  and  see  you,  you  know  that  I  shall 
be  only  too  happy  to  come  at  any  time. 

"Yours,  very  much  in  earnest, 

"  Horace  Marsh." 


184  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

He  read  it  over  twice.  It  was  not  an  ornately  worded 
epistle  ;  but  it  told  its  tale. 

"  I  guess  it  will  do,"  he  thought. 

As  he  was  putting  it  into  an  envelope,  Barry  arose  and 
knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  and  the  two  separated  for 
the  night. 


XV 

THE    GATHERING    OF    THE    STORM 

The  next  morning  it  was  raining — not  an  accidental  shower, 
but  a  steady,  gray  downpour,  telling  of  a  permanent  change 
in  the  weather.  It  rained  all  that  day,  and  the  next  and 
the  next,  which  was  Sunday.  The  effect  of  the  change  was 
quickly  seen  in  the  course  of  the  strike. 

In  the  sunshine  it  had  been  pleasant  for  the  crowds  to 
stand  at  the  street  corners  and  easy  to  be  good-humored. 
Under  the  cold,  persistent  rain,  falling  in  small  drops,  but 
fast  and  thick,  loafing  in  the  open  air  was  a  different  thing. 
Even  around  the  loop  now  the  number  of  strikers  was  small — 
just  a  single  row  of  men  standing  back:  against  the  walls ; 
and  they  watched  the  cars  go  by  in  sullen  silence.  The  ma- 
jority either  stayed  at  home  or  at  their  boarding-places, 
where  time  hung  heavy  on  their  hands,  and  they  grew  mo- 
rose ;  or  they  congregated  in  certain  resorts  where  beer  was 
accessible,  where  they  quarrelled  among  themselves,  or,  en- 
couraging each  other's  discontent  and  growing  bold  in  com- 
pany, talked  bitterly  against  the  companies  and  broached 
plans  of  violence.  In  these  places  they  segregated  them- 
selves into  groups,  according  to  their  nationality — in  one,  the 
Irishmen  ;  in  another,  the  Poles ;  here  the  Bohemians ;  there 
the  Huns.  Among  the  mill  hands  were  men  of  a  dozen 
races,  and  the  great  majority  spoke  but  little  English.  Cer- 
tain drinking-saloons  located  in  a  low  quarter  of  the  city, 
which  was  known  to  the  newspaper  men  as  "The  Pit,"  were 
the  rendezvous  of  the  Poles  and  Bohemians,  and  in  each  of 
these  once  and  again  during  the  day  the  clamor  of  voices 
and  rapping  of  beer-mugs  on  the  tables  would  be  stilled  as 
some  fluent  speaker,  red-bearded  and  fierce-eyed,  mounted 


186  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

on  his  chair  and  preached  to  them  in  their  own  tongue  doc- 
trines of  what  they  knew  as  "  liberty  " — the  liberty  of  the 
bomb  and  the  assassin's  knife. 

The  street-railway  company,  from  the  time  when  it  had 
begun  to  hire  new  men,  increased  its  force  daily.  Taking 
advantage  of  the  change  in  the  weather  which  drove  the  men 
from  the  streets,  efforts  in  this  direction  were  redoubled,  un- 
til by  the  end  of  the  week  the  service  on  all  lines  in  the  city 
was  in  regular  operation  with  a  full  force  of  men.  There 
were  those  who  said,  in  the  streets  and  in  the  newspapers, 
that  "the  backbone  of  the  strike  was  broken."  But  Mr. 
Holt  and  his  colleagues  knew  better.  The  real  struggle  had 
not  begun. 

The  effect  of  their  long  idleness  and  of  the  inflammatory 
speeches  to  which  they  had  listened  soon  began  to  be  seen  in 
the  temper  of  the  men ;  and  in  place  of  the  open  and  half- 
bantering  hostility  of  the  street-corner  crowds,  secret  deeds 
of  violence  began  to  be  perpetrated.  Employes  of  the  com- 
pany going  home  from  their  work  at  night,  if  by  any  chance 
they  were  found  singly,  were  assaulted  and  roughly  handled. 
The  wires  were  cut  several  times,  and  in  one  case  the  end  of 
the  "live"  wire,  falling  to  the  ground,  killed  the  horse  in  a 
passing  wagon,  while  a  policeman  who  endeavored  to  remove 
the  harmless-looking  thing  received  the  current  in  his  body, 
and  his  recovery  was  doubtful.  Stones  were  thrown  through 
the  windows  of  the  barns  and  the  power-houses,  and  men, 
working  their  way  into  the  former  and  eluding  the  vigilance 
of  the  watchmen,  tampered  with  the  standing  cars.  A  car 
on  its  last  trip  one  night  on  the  Milltown  line  was  attacked, 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  deserted  works,  and  though  the 
conductor  escaped,  the  engineer  was  beaten  and  trampled  al- 
most to  death.  An  attempt  was  made  on  the  same  night 
to  burn  a  boarding-house  wherein  a  number  of  the  men 
were  now  living,  but  without  serious  results.  The  officers 
of  the  company  were  in  daily  receipt  of  threatening  letters, 
warning  them  that  unless  the  company  yielded  they  would 
die.     Harrington  received  many  such  epistles. 

Harrington,  little  by  little,  had  come  to  be  regarded  by 
the   strikers  as   one   of  their  worst  enemies.     He  had   not 


THE    GATHERING    OF    THE    STORM  187 

sought  to  make  himself  conspicuous,  but  notoriety  was 
thrust  upon  him.  In  the  vindictive  speeches  in  the  saloons 
his  name  now  occurred  nearly  as  often  as  that  of  Mr.  Holt  him- 
self, or  those  of  General  Manager  Darron  and  Superintend- 
ent Boon.  It  has  already  been  seen  that  he  was  not  liked 
by  the  labor  organizations  before  the  trouble  began.  Being 
the  only  officer  connected  with  both  companies,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Mr.  Holt,  he  was  known  to  the  employes  of  both. 
In  the  very  first  hour  of  the  strike,  as  has  been  told,  he  pro- 
voked the  hostility  of  the  men  by  taking  the  place  of  the 
deserting  conductor.  Later,  under  similar  circumstances,  he 
had  made  almost  an  entire  round  trip,  handling  a  car  as  its 
engineer.  In  each  case  it  was  accident  that  brought  him  on 
the  scene  at  the  moment  when  his  services  were  needed ;  but 
the  two  instances  together  served  to  give  him  in  the  eyes  of 
the  strikers  the  appearance  of  peculiar  activity  in  behalf  of 
the  company.  Then  as  his  duties  kept  him  largely  confined 
to  the  main  power-house  and  central  barns,  he  was  formally 
intrusted  by  the  company  with  the  task  of  protecting  these 
buildings,  a  dozen  extra  men  being  put  under  his  authority 
for  the  purpose.  It  was  an  exasperating  office,  for  the  strik- 
ers resorted  to  all  manner  of  devices  for  his  petty  annoyance, 
and  constant  watchfulness  was  necessary  to  guard  the  prop- 
erty against  minor  injuries.  His  men,  too,  were  continually 
in  small  broils  and  scuffles  with  individual  strikers ;  and  his 
name  (he  was  sneeringly  spoken  of  as  "  Captain  Harring- 
ton ")  came  to  be  well  known  to  newspaper  readers.  One 
day  as  he  was  walking  through  the  barns,  going  in  and  out 
between  the  idle  cars,  he  came  suddenly  face  to  face  with 
Craft,  whose  name  has  already  been  mentioned  as  among  the 
speakers  at  the  meetings  in  the  Labor  Temple,  and  who  was 
an  officer  of  the  local  organization  of  the  street  -  railway  em- 
ployes. How  Craft  had  managed  to  smuggle  himself  into 
the  barns  Harrington  could  not  conjecture,  but  he  knew  him 
well  by  sight.  They  met  in  the  narrow  pathway  between  the 
cars  standing  on  parallel  tracks. 

"  How  did  you  get  in  here  ?"  asked  Harrington,  quickly. 

"  Go  to  hell  and  find  out !"  replied  the  other. 

Before  he   could  speak  again  Harrington  hit  him.     The 


188  MEN    BORN   EQUAL 

electrician  had  learned  to  spar,  and  hit  both  quickly  and 
hard.  Almost  before  he  was  aware  that  Harrington  intended 
to  strike,  the  labor  leader  found  himself  sprawling  upon  the 
floor.  Before  he  was  fairly  on  his  feet  a  second  blow  struck 
him.  In  spite  of  his  bulk  and  his  blustering  talk  Craft  was 
a  coward  at  heart,  and  now  suffered  himself  to  be  pushed 
almost  without  resistance  to  the  door  of  the  barns,  where 
Harrington  half  threw  and  half  kicked  him  out  into  the  mud 
and  rain,  a  woful  spectacle.  A  score  or  more  of  strikers 
standing  round  saw  their  leader's  humiliation,  and  the  inci- 
dent found  its  way  into  the  papers  the  next  day. 

All  these  things  together  contributed  to  single  out  Har- 
rington as  one  of  the  especial  objects  of  the  strikers'  hatred, 
while  Wollmer,  for  his  personal  dislike's  sake,  saw  to  it  that 
the  electrician's  unpopularity  was  not  suffered  to  decrease. 

Jennie  Masson,  who  was  still  much  alone,  and  for  whom 
these  days  were  very  gloomy,  saw  how  frequently  her  lover's 
name  was  now  in  print  with  mingled  feelings  of  fear  and 
pride.  She  knew  that  he  was  right,  and  would  not  for 
worlds  have  had  him  be  less  courageous  or  less  a  man ;  but 
her  heart  ached  for  the  peril  that  he  was  in.  When  he  called 
one  evening  she  found  that  he  carried  a  revolver  strapped 
round  his  waist ;  and  this  evidence  that,  in  spite  of  the  laugh- 
ing way  in  which  he  talked,  he  was  conscious  of  his  own  dan- 
ger deepened  her  forebodings. 

At  last,  as  the  strikers  grew  bolder  and  the  deeds  of  vio- 
lence more  frequent,  Mr.  Holt,  in  behalf  of  the  street-railway 
company,  applied  to  the  mayor  of  the  city  for  protection  for 
the  company's  property  and  the  lives  of  the  employes.  He 
enclosed  the  mayor  a  list  of  the  individual  acts  by  which  his 
company  had  already  suffered  damage,  and  represented  that 
the  situation  demanded  especial  precautions.  The  step  was 
taken  less  with  the  hope  of  obtaining  the  assistance  asked 
for  than  with  a  view  to  placing  himself  and  the  company  on 
record  as  having  sought  protection  in  abundance  of  time,  and 
throwing  on  the  municipal  authorities  the  responsibility  for 
whatever  might  follow. 

His  honor  replied  that  he  could  see  no  reason  as  yet  for 
any  extraordinary  measures  of  protection.     The  public  peace 


THE    GATHERING    OF   THE    STORM  189 

was  not  threatened,  and  he  (the  mayor)  had  an  abiding  faith 
in  the  orderliness  and  love  of  law  of  his  fellow  -  citizens. 
He  ignored  the  list  with  which  Mr.  Holt  had  furnished  him, 
and  said  that  the  official  reports  of  the  chief  of  the  police 
department  showed  no  remarkable  increase  in  crime  —  cer- 
tainly no  more  than  was  reasonably  to  be  expected  when  so 
many  men  were  out  of  work.  The  regular  police-force  of 
the  city  was  fully  occupied  with  its  present  duties ;  nor  was 
there  at  the  disposal  of  the  city  any  fund  which,  as  the 
mayor  was  advised  by  the  City  Attorney,  he  would  be  justified 
in  using,  in  the  present  condition  of  affairs,  for  any  such  pur- 
poses as  the  president  of  the  street-railway  company  re- 
quested. 

Mr.  Holt  replied  that  he  was  well  aware  that  his  own 
sources  of  information  as  to  the  prevalence  of  crime  must  be 
vastly  inferior  to  those  at  the  disposal  of  the  mayor  and  the 
chief  of  the  police  department.  None  the  less,  his  personal 
belief  was  that  the  situation  was  threatening  in  the  extreme, 
and  that  there  was  danger  at  any  moment  of  concerted  ac- 
tion on  the  part  of  the  men  now  unfortunately  unemployed, 
which  might  result  not  only  in  considerable  damage  to  pri- 
vate property,  but  in  grave  disturbance  of  the  public  peace. 
The  mayor  would  doubtless  understand  that  he  (as  well  as 
the  other  officers  of  the  street-railway  company)  was  anxious 
to  take  every  possible  precaution  to  protect  the  interests  of 
the  stockholders  of  the  company,  which  were  intrusted  to  his 
charge.  As  the  mayor  had  suggested  that  the  police-force  of 
the  city  was  inadequate  to  meet  emergencies  which  might 
arise,  and  in  view  of  what  the  mayor  had  said  as  to  the  lack 
of  funds  in  the  city  treasury,  the  street-railway  company  was 
willing  to  provide  any  number  of  men  that  might  be  thought 
sufficient,  at  the  company's  own  expense,  to  give  the  needed 
protection,  if  the  city  government  would  assume  control  of 
them,  and  would  invest  them  with  the  proper  authority  as 
special  officers. 

The  mayor  answered  that  the  city  wTas  not  yet  in  such 
straits  that  it  was  necessary  for  it  to  throw  itself  on  the 
generosity  of  private  citizens  or  corporations  for  assistance 
in  the  conduct  of  public  affairs.     When  the  city  government 


190  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

needed  men  to  enforce  the  laws  he  had  no  fear  that  enough 
would  not  he  forthcoming  from  the  residents  of  the  city  at 
large  in  answer  to  any  call  which  might  be  made  upon  them. 
It  would  be  time  enough,  the  mayor  said,  to  consider  the 
means  by  which  riot  or  disorder  should  be  repressed  when 
riot  or  disorder  showed  itself. 

Mr.  Holt  informed  the  mayor  that  he  was  much  gratified 
to  know  that  his  honor  felt  so  little  uneasiness  as  to  the  out- 
look. The  street-railway  company  had  no  doubt  of  the  abil- 
ity of  the  city  government  to  protect  the  lives  and  property 
of  the  citizens,  but  the  mayor  would  doubtless  pardon  Mr. 
Holt's  natural  anxiety  in  behalf  of  the  large  interests  which 
were  in  his  care.  Mr.  Holt  further  begged  to  officially  notify 
the  mayor  that  the  street-railway  company  would  be  com- 
pelled to  hold  the  city  responsible  for  any  danger  to  its  prop- 
erty or  the  lives  of  its  employes  which  it  might  suffer  from 
the  acts  of  violence  of  other  parties,  against  whom  the  com- 
pany had  tendered  the  city  all  possible  assistance  in  securing 
protection,  which  tender  had  been  refused  in  his  honor's 
recent  communication. 

This  correspondence  was  published  in  full  in  the  press, 
and  the  party  organs  attacked  the  president  of  the  street- 
railway  company  bitterly  for  his  "  aspersions  on  the  inten- 
tions of  the  strikers,"  and  his  "  attempt  to  sow  uneasiness 
and  apprehension  in  the  public  mind."  Mayor  Bonderson 
was  correspondingly  applauded  for  his  patriotism,  his  confi- 
dence in  his  fellow-citizens,  and  his  refusal  to  place  the  city 
under  a  "  reign  of  terror,  by  establishing  a  condition  of  affairs 
which  would  have  bordered  upon  martial  law." 

The  more  thoughtful  of  the  citizens,  however,  looked  on 
at  the  course  which  things  were  taking  with  alarm,  as  from 
day  to  day  crimes  of  all  sorts  grew  more  frequent.  The  em- 
ployes of  the  street-railway  company  did  not  dare  to  go  to 
or  from  their  work  except  in  bands  of  ten  or  more.  An  epi- 
demic of  burglary  broke  out  in  the  city.  Inoffensive  citizens 
walking  alone  were  held  up  and  robbed.  Attempts  were 
made  on  two  successive  evenings  to  set  fire  to  the  iron-and- 
steel  company's  plant,  and  a  large  force  of  watchmen  was 
kept  constantly  on  duty  there.     The  guerrilla  warfare  against 


THE    GATHERING    OF    THE    STORM  191 

the  street-railway  company  was  continued,  and  small  injuries 
were  done  to  its  property  in  every  conceivable  way.  Not 
only  were  the  wires  cut  (or,  rather,  shot  in  two  ;  for  the 
strikers  found  a  charge  from  a  shot-gun  to  be  the  easiest 
and  surest  way  of  parting  the  cable  overhead),  but  at  night 
groups  of  men  would  set  silently  to  work  at  remote  points 
on  the  various  lines  and  tear  up  the  tracks,  sometimes  for  a 
space  of  fifty  yards  at  one  place,  and,  carrying  the  rails  away, 
hide  them  in  ditches  and  out-of-the-way  corners.  Switches 
and  frogs  were  battered  and  broken  so  that  cars  could  not 
pass  without  derailment.  Employes  on  the  cars  were  at- 
tacked with  missiles  of  every  sort.  Out  of  the  darkness  in 
the  night  figures  would  suddenly  appear  beside  a  moving  car, 
and  hurl  huge  stones  and  clubs  at  the  engineers  and  conduct- 
ors. Not  infrequently  the  weapons  thrown  broke  through  the 
window,  and  showered  splinters  of  glass  over  passengers  within. 

Occasionally  offenders  would  be  arrested,  not  by  the  en- 
ergy of  the  police,  but  captured  first  by  employes  of  the 
street-railway  company,  and  handed  to  the  police  afterwards. 
When  brought  before  a  justice,  they  were  either  discharged 
or  let  off  with  a  small  fine,  for  which  the  money  was  readily 
forthcoming. 

As  in  all  troubles  between  a  railway  company  and  its  em- 
ployes, no  matter  whether  it  be  a  street-railway  company  or 
a  larger  steam  road,  the  chief  sufferer  was  the  public.  No 
individual  member  of  the  community  suffered  as  largely  as 
did  the  company,  but  in  the  aggregate  the  loss  to  the  people 
was  incomparably  larger  than  to  either  of  the  immediate 
parties  to  the  fight.  This  is  always  so.  The  direct  and  in- 
direct injury  to  the  public  interests  by  the  railway  strikes  of 
the  last  decade  in  the  United  States  has  amounted  to  many 
hundreds  of  millions  of  dollars.  But  the  American  people  are 
most  patient.  In  the  individual  controversy  their  sympathy  at 
the  outset  is  invariably  on  the  side  of  the  employes.  It  is 
onlv  as  the  strike  progresses — as  crime  and  disorder  become 
prevalent — as  the  worst  side  of  the  system  of  labor  organiza- 
tions is  turned  outward  to  the  public  view — as  the  lawless 
element,  which  will  always  ultimately  control  the  mass  of 
the  unemployed,  begins  to  tyrannize  over  the  public,  that  the 


192  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

people  rebel,  and  their  sympathy  is  alienated  from  the  side 
of  the  men. 

As  each  successive  strike  begins,  however,  the  public  con- 
tinues to  give  the  same  ungrudging  support  to  the  men  that 
it  has  given  before.  But  out  of  the  many  particular  disap- 
pointments it  appears  that  the  public  is  slowly  and  unwill- 
ingly coming  to  learn  the  general  lesson  —  the  lesson  that  it 
is  no  disinterested  spectator  of  the  conflict,  but  that  if  it  suf- 
fers the  trouble  to  continue,  itself  will  infallibly  be  the  chief 
loser,  whichever  side  wins.  There  is  a  natural  instinct  in  all 
men,  when  two  parties  of  evenly  matched  strength  are  fight- 
ing, to  stand  aside  and  let  them  fight  till  the  best  man  is 
victorious.  But  the  case  is  different  when  the  arena  which 
the  contestants  have  selected  for  their  struggle  happens  to  be 
in  the  centre  of  one's  own  flower-bed.  And  no  matter  where 
the  ring  may  be  pitched  for  any  struggle  between  a  railway 
company  and  its  men,  it  must  always  be  the  public  property 
that  will  be  trampled  under  foot. 

Moreover,  in  spite  of  the  talk  of  labor  leaders  about  "peace- 
ful strikes"  and  "lawful  and  constitutional  warfare,"  the 
public  is  having  forced  upon  it  the  knowledge  of  the  fact 
that  a  peaceful  strike,  carried  through  without  infraction  of 
the  laws,  is,  at  least  in  the  case  of  such  quasi-public  institu- 
tions as  the  railways,  an  impossibility.  The  labor  leaders 
know  when  they  embark  upon  a  strike  that  they  cannot  carry 
it  through  to  success  without  violation  of  the  law.  If  they 
simply  call  their  men  out,  and  make  no  further  move  to  pre- 
vent the  employer  continuing  operations  with  new  men,  the 
strike  is  necessarily  a  failure.  The  essence  of  the  modern 
strike  is  that  the  employer  should  be  prevented  from  continu- 
ing with  new  men  ;  and  this  cannot  be  done  without  violence. 
In  the  case  of  a  railway,  the  mere  attempt  to  do  it  (apart 
from  any  individual  acts  of  violence)  is  a  violation  of  the  law 
of  the  nation  and  an  insurrection  against  the  government. 
The  regulation  of  commerce  is  a  function  of  the  State,  and  to 
interrupt  that  commerce  by  violence  is  rebellion.  Under  the 
modern  labor  doctrines  of  the  solidarity  of  all  labor  organi- 
zations, the  public  is  coming  slowly  to  an  understanding  of 
how  serious  such  a  rebellion  may  become. 


THE    GATHERING    OF   THE    STORM  193 

In  this  controversy  between  the  street-railway  company 
and  the  labor  organizations,  the  public  men  of  both  parties, 
owing  to  the  nearness  of  the  elections,  were  more  than  ordi- 
narily loath  to  take  the  initiative  in  coming  forward  to  inter- 
fere. After  much  delay,  however,  a  mass-meeting  of  citizens 
was  called  by  a  number  of  leading  men,  irrespective  of  party, 
"  to  consider,"  as  the  call  said,  "  the  condition  of  affairs  now 
existing  in  our  city,  and  to  endeavor  to  derive  means  for 
harmonizing  the  conflicting  interests  of  the  two  parties  to 
the  struggle  now  in  progress,  which  struggle  is  so  seriously 
detrimental  to  the  welfare  of  the  public  in  general." 

At  this  meeting  a  committee  of  well-known  men  was  ap- 
pointed to  confer  with  the  officers  of  the  companies  and  the 
leaders  of  the  men,  as  well  as,  in  case  of  failure  to  arrange  a 
compromise  between  them,  with  the  mayor  of  the  city.  The 
committee  did  its  best ;  but  that  best  was  futile. 

Mr.  Holt  assured  the  committee  that  he  and  all  other  offi- 
cers of  the  street-railway  company  were  as  anxious  to  see 
crime  suppressed  and  order  restored  in  the  town  as  any 
other  citizen  could  be.  But  as  for  the  company  itself,  Mr. 
Holt  could  not  see  what  it  was  able  to  do.  It  had  no  quarrel 
with  its  employes  or  anybody  else.  It  was  operating  its 
road,  and  had  all  the  men  that  it  needed.  These  men  ap- 
peared to  be  entirely  contented,  and  the  feeling  between 
them  and  the  company  was  excellent.  As  for  the  former 
employes  who  were  now  out  of  work,  the  company  had  no 
quarrel  with  them  —  no  relations  with  them  of  any  kind. 
The  company  only  desired  to  let  them  alone  and  be  let  alone. 
As  for  discharging  the  present  hands  and  re-employing  the 
old  men,  such  an  injustice  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  As  for 
the  labor  organizations,  the  company  had  no  members  of  any 
in  its  employment,  and  there  was  no  more  reason  why  it 
should  have  any  dealings  with  them  than  with  the  Unitarian 
Society,  or  the  Bimetallic  League,  or  the  Woman's  Christian 
Temperance  Union. 

On  behalf  of  the  iron -and- steel  company,  Mr.  Holt  said 
that  the  company  had  simply  shut  down  and  gone  out  of 
business  indefinitely.  There  was  nothing  in  the  condition  of 
trade  to  warrant  a  reopening.     He  did  not  think  that  there 

13 


194  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

would  be  for  twelve  months  to  come.  The  men  had  left  of 
their  own  accord,  and  had  not  applied  for  re-employment.  If 
they  did  apply,  even  unanimously  agreeing  to  come  back  on 
the  company's  own  terms,  it  was  improbable  that  the  com- 
pany could  consider  a  resumption  of  business.  It  would  need 
a  fund  of  from  a  million  to  a  million  and  a  half  of  dollars  to 
justify  the  company  in  starting  now,  with  the  certainty  of 
operating  for  some  months  at  least  at  a  loss.  The  company 
could  raise  no  such  sum.  Mr.  Holt  did  not  think  that  the 
men  could,  or  that  the  citizens  would  be  willing  to. 

From  the  labor  leaders  the  committee  derived  even  less 
comfort.  Wollmer,  who  spoke  for  the  strikers,  said  that 
they  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  crimes  which  were  being 
committed.  They  were  done  by  others,  chiefly  by  emissaries 
of  the  street-railway  company,  who  injured  the  company's 
own  property  for  the  purpose  of  discrediting  the  strikers 
and  exciting  public  prejudice  against  them.  The  strikers 
themselves,  Wollmer  said,  were  a  peaceable,  law-abiding  set 
of  men,  who  proposed  to  continue  to  keep  the  peace.  But 
they  would  never  give  in.  As  for  the  crimes — that  was  a 
matter  for  the  police. 

So  the  committee  went  to  the  mayor,  and  Timothy  Sulli- 
van assisted,  as  a  silent  partner,  at  the  interview.  His  honor 
took  much  the  same  ground  as  he  had  occupied  in  his  cor- 
respondence with  Mr.  Holt.  He  himself  saw  no  especial 
necessity  for  extraordinary  measures  for  the  public  protec- 
tion. But  if  the  committee  insisted — "  mind,"  he  repeated, 
"  if  you,  as  representatives  of  the  citizens,  insist  upon  it  " — 
why,  of  course,  he  would  instruct  the  chief  of  the  police  de- 
partment to  make  a  large  increase  in  the  force,  and  other- 
wise to  take  all  possible  precautions  to  prevent  crime  and 
suppress  disorder.  The  mayor  warned  the  committee, 
however,  that  the  expense  would  be  great,  and  that  the 
city  treasury  was  in  no  condition  to  stand  any  additional 
drain. 

After  some  consultation,  the  committee  decided  that  it  was 
best  that  the  mayor  should  "  go  ahead  "  and  do  whatever  was 
necessary.  Anything  was  preferable  to  a  continuance  of  ex- 
isting conditions. 


THE    GATHERING    OF   THE    STORM  195 

So  the  mayor  sent  for  the  chief  of  police,  who  approached 
and  listened  attentively  while  the  mayor  said  : 

11  These  gentlemen  here,  as  representatives  of  the  citizens 
by  whom  they  were  appointed  as  a  committee,  when  in  mass- 
meeting  assembled,  have  instructed  me  to  spare  no  expense  in 
maintaining  peace  and  a  respect  for  the  law  in  this  city. 
They  insist  on  as  large  an  increase  in  the  police -force  as 
may  be  necessary,  and  on  the  taking  of  any  other  measures 
that  we  can  devise  for  the  proper  protection  of  the  lives  and 
property  of  the  public.  I  want  you,  if  you  please,  to  draw  up 
a  scheme,  showing  how  many  additional  men  you  will  need 
for  the  thorough  patrolling  of  the  city,  and  making  any  sug- 
gestions that  you  can  which  will  assist  in  carrying  out  the 
wishes  of  the  committee."     The  chief  of  police  bowed. 

"  I  think,  gentlemen,"  continued  the  mayor,  turning  to  the 
committee,  "  that  those  instructions  fairly  represent  what  you 
require  of  me.  Of  course,  it  is  unnecessary  for  me  to  say  that 
if  any  question  as  to  the  wisdom  of  these  expenditures  should 
come  up  hereafter,  I  shall  expect  you  to  relieve  the  present 
administration  of  all  responsibility  for  them." 

The  committee  signified  its  understanding  of  these  con- 
ditions, and  after  some  desultory  questions  with  a  view  to 
ascertaining  what  the  expense  was  likely  to  be  —  questions 
to  which  the  mayor  found  it  impossible  to  even  hazard  an 
answer  without  further  consideration  and  consultation  — 
withdrew.  As  soon  as  the  committee  had  left,  the  chief 
said : 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  Nothing,"  replied  the  mayor.  "  Better  put  on  a  few  new 
men  and  talk  a  good  deal  about  the  enormous  increase  in  the 
force." 

The  chief  winked  at  Sullivan  and  retired.  Then  that  wor- 
thy arose  and  stretched  himself  : 

"  Talk  of  rollin'  off  a  log !"  said  he,  and  he  too  strolled  out 
of  the  office. 

Thenceforward  the  Democratic  papers  talked  much  of  the 
extraordinary  expenditures  which  were  made  necessary  by 
the  large  additions  to  the  police-force  which  had  been  made, 
and  the  "  other  measures  "  (which  were  not  specified)  which 


196  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

Mayor  Bonderson,  with  the  able  assistance  of  Chief  Winley, 
was  taking  for  the  prevention  of  crime. 

But  there  were  citizens  who  had  the  temerity  to  say  that 
they  saw  little  difference  either  in  the  number  of  policemen 
on  the  streets  or  in  the  amount  of  crime  committed. 

Even  Timothy  Sullivan  indeed  seemed  to  think  that  there 
was  too  much  crime,  judging  from  his  remarks  at  a  stormy 
interview  which  took  place  two  days  later  in  General  Harter's 
office.  The  parties  to  the  conversation  were  the  usual  trium- 
virate. 

"  They  must  stop  it,  I  tell  ye,"  said  the  Irishman,  violently, 
bringing  his  list  down  on  the  baize-covered  table  with  a  bang 
which  made  the  inkstands  jump.  "  There's  no  use  o'  palaver- 
in',  they  must  just  stop  it !  The  public  may  be  a  dom  fool  up 
to  a  certain  point— it  always  is  ;  but  beyond  that  point  ye'd 
best  not  monkey  with  it.  I've  been  there  before,  an'  I  tell  ye 
they  must  stop  it.  AVe  can  blow  all  we  plaze  in  the  papers 
about  the  amazin'  ingenuity  of  his  honor  an'  that  goat  Win- 
ley  in  arrestin'  criminals,  an'  we  can  swear  till  we're  green 
that  ther'  isn't  a  striker  who'd  descend  to  violence,  but  it's  the 
public  that  knows  best  when  it's  held  up  an'  robbed  an'  hit 
with  clubs.  Talk  of  the  ingenuity  of  the  administration  don't 
go  when  a  man's  been  sand-bagged." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?"  asked  Wollmer.  "  Do 
you  think  three  thousand  men,  and  out  of  work  at  that,  can 
be  given  rag-dolls  and  bottles  and  kept  in  a  nursery  ?" 

"  I  don't  care  a  dom  what  ye  do,"  replied  Sullivan  ;  "  only 
stop  it !  When  ye  first  came  to  the  Gineral  and  mesilf  here 
in  this  same  office  and  said  as  ye  could  have  the  men  strike 
if  we  willed,  ye  also  said  ye  could  hould  'em  till  after  elec- 
tion. We  took  ye  at  yer  word,  an'  in  two  weeks  ye've  re- 
ceived from  the  sacred  funds  of  the  municipality  just  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars,  for  the  which,  next  to  the  Al- 
mighty, ye're  indebted  to  the  dom  fool  of  a  committee.  How 
much  money  ye  may  have  got  beyond  that  from  the  assess- 
ments of  the  orders  is  none  of  my  business,  an'  I  guess  that 
the  other  friends  who  are  in  wid  ye  need  all  that.  But  ye've 
had  yer  price  so  far,  an'  we  can  pay  ye  (thanks  to  the  same 
committee  agin)  for  four  weeks  to  come,  which  is  the  elec- 


THE    GATHERING    OF    THE    STORM  197 

tions.  But  it  isn't  for  the  sake  of  yer  swate  face  as  we're 
payin'  ye,  nor  for  any  other  consideration  whatsoever  beyond 
that  ye  should  kape  these  men  quiet  an'  hould  public  sym- 
pathy wid  them  an'  against  the  Republicans." 

There  was  silence  for  some  seconds,  and  then  Sullivan  con- 
tinued : 

"  If  ye  can't  hould  them,  thin  we  must ;  and  if  we  hev  to 
employ  the  extry  men  in  airnest  as  we're  philanderin'  about 
now,  there'll  be  no  more  money  comin'  from  the  city  for  Woll- 
mer.  An'  if  riot  breaks  out  an'  the  militia  come  in,  there'll 
be  more  votes  lost  to  the  Dimicratic  parrty  than  all  the 
dom  labor  element  in  the  State  can  give  it.  An'  mark  ye 
further,"  said  the  Irishman,  rising,  "  if  there's  any  such 
trouble  occurrin'  as  that  comes  too,  I'll  hould  the  red  head  of 
ye  in  that  same  stove  there  till  yer  own  mother  won't  know 
the  face  of  ye  from  the  side  of  a  baked  apple." 


XVI 

A  TALK  AT  THE  CLUB 

The  letter  which  Horace  had  written  he  sent  by  messenger 
on  the  following  morning.  If  she  were  at  home  and  replied  at 
once,  he  ought  to  receive  the  answer  by  noon.  As  the  morn- 
ing wore  away  he  looked  up  anxiously  every  time  that  the 
office  door  opened,  thinking  that  it  was  a  letter  from  her. 
By  one  o'clock  no  answer  had  arrived,  and  he  went  out  to 
luncheon,  telling  himself  that  she  could  not  have  been  at 
home  when  his  message  arrived.  Through  the  afternoon  he 
waited  in  vain,  uneasily  at  first,  but  comforting  himself  with 
the  assurance  that  she  had  doubtless  preferred  to  write  to 
him  at  some  length,  and  would  send  the  letter  by  mail  that 
evening. 

The  following  morning  he  was  at  the  office  early,  and  picked 
up  his  mail  without  waiting  to  lay  aside  his  hat  and  umbrella. 
He  ran  the  envelopes  over  quickly.  There  was  nothing  in 
her  handwriting.  Once  more  he  looked  at  them.  No;  there 
was  nothing. 

"  Franklin,  is  this  all  the  mail  there  was  for  me  ?"  he  called 
to  the  outer  office. 

"  Yes,  sir.     General  Harter's  mail  is  on  his  desk." 

The  General  was  out  of  town,  speaking  at  outside  points, 
and  Horace,  thinking  that  perhaps  the  clerks  had  made  a 
mistake,  went  into  his  office  and  looked  through  the  pile  of 
envelopes  lying  on  his  partner's  desk.  No  ;  there  was  noth- 
ing for  him.  Could  it  be  that  she  had  posted  the  letter  too 
late  for  the  first  morning  delivery  ?  Possibly ;  outside  of  the 
business  centre  of  the  town,  in  localities  such  as  that  wherein 
Mr.  Holt  lived,  the  collections  from  the  mail-boxes  were  few. 
She  might  have  written  to  him  in  the  afternoon,  and  sent 
Thomas  out  to  the  mail-box  after  dinner.     In  that  case  the 


A   TALK    AT    THE    CLUB  199 

letter  might  well  fail  to  arrive  the  first  thing  in  the  morning. 
It  would  come  by  a  later  delivery. 

Once  more,  however,  the  morning  dragged  along  without  a 
word  from  her.  Lunch -time  arrived,  and  Marsh  took  his 
way  to  the  club  through  the  rain  and  mud,  wondering  what 
could  have  happened.  There  had  been  a  miscarriage  some- 
where. The  idea  that  she  would  not  reply  to  his  letter — that 
the  misunderstanding  which  had  arisen  between  them  was  of 
a  permanent  nature,  or  anything  so  serious  as  to  make  her  re- 
fuse to  have  anything  more  to  say  to  him — did  not  occur  to 
him.  But  this  delay  was  inexplicable.  Moreover,  this  was 
Saturday.  If  he  did  not  hear  that  afternoon,  the  whole  gulf 
of  Sunday  would  intervene  before  there  could  be  any  commu- 
nication between  them.  How  in  the  world  would  he  manage 
to  get  through  the  long  Sunday  if  he  could  not  call  on  her  ? 
He  had  counted  on  spending  much  of  the  day  in  her  company. 

Arriving  at  the  club,  he  put  his  wet  umbrella  in  the  stand 
by  the  door,  and  handed  his  hat  and  overcoat  to  the  boy  in  the 
cloak-room.  He  was  still  standing  by  the  door  in  the  cloak- 
room, turning  down  the  bottom  of  his  trousers,  which  had  been 
rolled  up  as  he  came  through  the  wet,  when  Judge  Jessel  and 
Major  Bartop  issued  together  from  the  reading-room  opposite. 

"  Ah-ha !"  said  the  judge,  on  seeing  Horace,  "  here  is  the 
very  man  we  are  looking  for.  Marsh,  Bartop  and  I  have  en- 
tered into  a  conspiracy  to  get  you  to  lunch  with  us.  Have 
you  anything  else  to  do  ?" 

"  No ;  I  shall  be  delighted."  And  Horace  shook  hands 
with  the  two  friends. 

"  That's  good.  It's  Saturday,  and  you  need  not  rush  back 
to  your  office,  so  we  can  have  a  long  talk,"  said  the  judge, 
heartily.  Turning  to  the  broad  shelf  which  ran  out  from  the 
wall,  and  on  which  were  arranged  the  luncheon-cards  and 
order-blanks,  he  picked  up  one  of  the  small  pencils  tied  by  a 
string  to  a  ring  in  the  wood,  and  set  himself  to  the  serious 
task  of  ordering  a  meal. 

"  What  will  you  fellows  eat  3"  he  asked.  "  What  do  you 
crave  ?     Blue  Points,  anyway,  to  begin  with, 

"'For  blue  is  the  sweetest  color  that's  worn' 


200  MEN    BOEN   EQUAL 

— or  eaten,"  he  hummed.  "  Blue-fish,  blue-winged  teal,  blue- 
berries— everything  blue  is  good.  I  never  ate  a  blue  shark 
or  a  blue-faced  baboon,  but  if  I  did  I  know  they  would  be 
better  than  other  sharks  and  baboons."  The  judge  was  noted 
for  the  austerity  of  his  bearing  upon  the  bench,  but  his  wife 
always  said  that  he  was  only  a  great  big  boy. 

" '  Though  the  brilliant  black  eye  may  in  triumph  let  fly 
All  its  darts  without  caring  who  feels  them, 
Yet  the  soft  eye  of  blue,  though  it  scatters  wounds  too, 
Is  much  better  pleased  when  it  heals  them,' " 

quoted  the  major. 

"  That's  bosh  !"  said  the  judge.  "  Mrs.  JessePs  eyes  are 
black.  Blue  noses  are  bad,  too.  But  luncheon !  Here, 
why  don't  you  fellows  help  me  ?  If  you  don't  make  sugges- 
tions, I  will  feed  you  on  tripe  and  ginger  ale.  Bartop,  I 
know,  insists  on  a  baked  apple  to  wind  up  with,  but  we  must 
have  things  between  ;  Blue  Points  and  baked  apple  won't  do. 
Here,  help  me !  Consomme  royal"  he  murmured ;  "  that 
means  with  an  egg  in  it,  though  I  have  no  idea  what  eggs 
have  to  do  with  royalty  —  except  that  they  are  brittle  and 
smell  foully  when  they  are  bad.  Do  you  men  like  eggs  in 
your  soup  ?  Well,  I  do,  anyway.  Consomme  royal — one  por- 
tion and  a  half.  If  you  won't  eat  the  eggs,  I  will  take  all 
three — 

"  '  There  is  a  happy  land,  far,  far  away, 

Where  they  have  soup  and  eggs  three  times  a  day.' " 

"  I  don't  think  you  need  help,"  said  Horace,  laughingly. 
"  Anyway,  if  you  do,  the  major  can  give  it.  Too  many  cooks 
spoil  the  lunch — especially  in  ordering  it;  and  I  am  going  to 
wash  my  hands." 

"  If  you  do,  you  shall  have  nothing  but  vinegar  to  drink. 
'Wilt  drink  up  Eisel?'" 

"  I  will  drink  anything,"  said  Horace,  as  he  made  his  way 
to  the  lavatory.  Contact  with  reasonable  fellow-beings  was 
doing  him  good,  and  he  was  surprised  to  find  himself  almost 
light-hearted  as  he  joined  his  companions  in  the  reading- 
room,  where  they  had  ensconced  themselves  in  two  large 


A   TALK    AT   THE    CLUB  201 

arm-chairs,  a  third  being  drawn  up  close  to  them  for  Horace. 
As  he  approached  they  had  their  heads  together  in  deep  con- 
sultation, but  they  broke  off  as  Marsh  joined  them.  He  felt 
that  they  were  talking  of  him,  but  judged  from  their  cordi- 
ality that  they  had  said  nothing  bad. 

Ten  minutes  later  a  servant  informed  the  judge  that  his 
luncheon  was  served,  and  the  party  ascended  to  the  dining- 
room.  As  soon  as  they  were  seated  at  their  table  the  judge 
spoke. 

"  Now,  Marsh,  we  told  you  that  this  was  a  deliberate  con- 
spiracy. We  wanted  you  to  lunch  with  us  because  we  want 
to  talk  to  you — talk  politics." 

"  I  am  willing,"  Marsh  replied,  as  he  dropped  Tabasco  sauce 
on  his  slice  of  lemon,  preparatory  to  administering  the  dilution 
to  the  oysters. 

"  I  hope  you  will  stay  willing,  because  we  are  going  to  try 
and  convert  you.  This  is  an  organized  attack  for  the  purpose 
of  seducing  you  from  your  party." 

"  To  make  a  Republican  of  me  ?"  Horace  asked.  "  How 
are  you  going  to  abet  any  such  scheme  as  that,  major  ?" 

"  It  is  not  to  make  a  Republican  of  you,"  Major  Bartop  said, 
"but  to  draw  you  away  from  your  present  crowd.  This  cam- 
paign is  not  a  conflict  between  Democrats  and  Republicans ; 
even  the  fight  of  two  years  ago  was  not,  though  it  pretended 
to  be.  The  Populists  are  not  Democrats  any  more  than  they 
are  Republicans.  In  some  states  and  localities  they  are  fused 
with  the  Republicans  to-day.  They  are  simply  the  accumula- 
tion of  the  malecontents  and  dissidents  from  both  parties.  In 
every  country  which  is  under  party  government  the  people  first 
divide  themselves  on  some  large  question  into  two  more  or  less 
equal  parties.  From  these  great  bodies  in  the  process  of  daily 
friction  fragments  are  constantly  being  rubbed  off,  and  this 
detritus  goes  on  accumulating  until  it  amounts  to  enough  to 
make  a  third  party.  So,  on  some  one  issue  or  a  jumble  of 
issues,  it  finally  coheres  and  starts  out  as  an  independent  en- 
tity, and  generally  sells  its  support  to  whichever  of  the  other 
two  bodies  is  able  to  pay  most  for  it  at  the  time.  In  this 
State  two  years  ago,  as  you  know,  the  Democrats  bought  it. 
Perhaps  I  know  more  than  you  do  of  the  inside  of  the  deal. 


202  MEN    BORN   EQUAL 

The  judge  doubtless  knows  what  price  the  Republicans  could 
have  had  it  for  ;  but  they  declined  the  offer.  What  the  Demo- 
crats got  when  they  made  the  purchase  was  a  certain  number 
of  votes.  What  they  paid  was  a  certain  number  of  offices. 
The  persons  who  cast  the  votes  were  the  offscourings  of 
both  parties  in  the  State — all  the  cranks  and  theorists,  dema- 
gogues, anarchists,  ignoramuses,  and  others,  who  were  too  good 
or  too  bad  to  be  Democrats  or  Republicans,  or  did  not  know 
enough  of  the  English  language  to  be  either.  When  the  hetero- 
geneous mass  was  dumped,  neck  and  crop,  into  the  Demo- 
cratic camp,  there  were  a  good  many  of  us  who  shook  our  heads 
and  fought  shy  of  our  new  comrades.  Putting  myself  out  of 
the  question,  I  think  I  may  say  that  they  were  the  best  men  in 
the  party.  Two  years  of  experience  of  the  allied  forces  in 
power  has  only  strengthened  our  aversion.  The  present  cam- 
paign started  out  on  a  basis  of  the  Democratic  party  minus  its 
best  element,  but  plus  the  Populist  offscouring,  versus  the 
Republican  party.  The  best  element  of  Democracy  held 
aloof.  As  time  has  passed,  and  especially  since  the  strike  be- 
gan, the  neutral  Democrats  have  one  by  one  gone  over  to  the 
Republican  camp.  I  myself  shall  vote  a  straight  Republican 
ticket  this  fall.  More  than  that,  a  great  many  more  Demo- 
crats who  managed  to  stomach  the  Populists  two  years  ago 
are  throwing  them  up  now,  and  within  the  last  week  or  two  so 
much  has  been  going  on  quietly  that  I  believe  that  one-half 
the  regular,  old-time  Democrats  will  be  Republicans  in  this 
election.  It  is  no  longer  a  question  of  Democrat  against  Re- 
publican ;  it's  a  question  of  law  and  order  and  decency  against 
mob-rule  and  anarchy  and  crime." 

"  What  we  want  to  know,"  said  the  judge,  as  Major  Bartop 
ceased,  "  is,  what  common  ground  or  sympathy  you  can  pos- 
sibly have  with  this  latter  party  ?" 

"You  gentlemen,"  said  Marsh,  after  a  short  deliberation, 
"  are  of  course  very  much  better  posted  than  I  am  in  the  de- 
tails of  politics.  You  are  considerably  older  than  I  am,  and 
much  more  experienced  both  in  politics  and  life.  At  the  same 
time,  I  do  not  think  your  statement  of  the  case,  major,  is 
entirely  fair.  Much  of  what  you  say  as  to  the  miscellaneous 
character  of  the  Populist  contingent  is  justifiable  ;  but  not  all. 


A   TALK    AT   THE    CLUB  203 

In  large  measure  they  are  the  offscourings  and  the  dissidents 
from  both  parties.  They  represent  in  detail  all  manner  of 
queer  beliefs  and  impossible  theories.  They  lack  any  unity  of 
principle.  But  they  have  one  thing  in  common,  which  is  the 
capacity  to  be  led.  The  mere  fact  of  their  incongruity  and 
aimlessness — or,  rather,  the  diversity  of  their  aims — makes 
them,  as  a  party,  open  to  conviction.  They  have  now  no  single 
common  cause.  Give  them  one,  and  they  can  be  solidified  and 
concentrated  upon  it.  So  far  they  may  have  been  misled  and 
used  chiefly  for  evil.  They  can  be  led  rightly  and  used  for 
good — for  great  good.  As  with  any  other  force,  it  is  only  a 
question  of  the  direction  in  which  it  is  turned  whether  it  be- 
comes a  beneficent  or  a  maleficent  power — whether  it  works 
for  ruin  or  for  salvation." 

"  What  do  you  hope  to  be  able  to  make  the  Populist  party 
do  that  is  good  ?  What  evidence  have  you  that  you  can  lead 
them  at  all?     Wherein  are  they  now  without  leaders?" 

"  I  understood  you  yourself  to  say  that  they  were  leaderless, 
at  Mr.  Holt's  dinner-table,  not  very  long  ago." 

"  As  a  national  party,  yes.  As  Bartop  pointed  out,  look- 
ing at  the  whole  country,  they  have  no  political  unity,  no 
consistency.  In  some  places  they  are  allied  with  one  party, 
and  in  some  with  the  other.  That  is  not  a  phenomenon  pe- 
culiar to  this  particular  party  in  this  particular  crisis.  It  is  a 
necessity  for  all  new  third  parties ;  the  most  that  they  can 
hope  for  for  a  while  is  the  balance  of  power.  The  present 
situation  in  this  country  has  had  its  counterpart  in  every  coun- 
try and  in  all  ages.  The  words  '  Democrat '  and  '  Republican ' 
are  only  symbols — localizations  of  eternal  facts.  What  we  are 
saying  now  was  doubtless  said  over  and  over  again  in  ancient 
Athens  and  Rome.  It  has  certainly  been  said  within  the  cen- 
tury— almost  within  the  decade — in  England  and  France  and 
Germany  and  Italy."  Marsh  nodded  his  acquiescence,  and  the 
judge  continued  :  "  This  human  detritus,  as  the  major  calls 
it,  accumulates  until  it  includes  enough  individuals  to  make 
it  in  itself  a  political  factor.  At  this  point,  if  the  right  lead- 
er appears,  it  may  be  converted  from  an  inert  mass  into  a 
fighting-machine — from  a  mere  negative  protest  against  the  ex- 
isting parties  into  a  formidable  opponent  of  them.     This  has 


204  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

been  done  again  and  again  in  history.  In  this  country  now 
the  process  of  detrition  has  been  at  work  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century — since  the  war  ;  and  it  looks  as  if  the  neutrals,  the 
Adnllamites — the  unannexed — were  numerous  enough  to  form 
a  third  party  of  considerable  bulk.  In  human  nature  it  could 
not  be  otherwise.  But " — aud  the  judge  emphasized  the  word 
with  a  rap  of  his  wineglass  on  the  table  —  "  we  are  not  now 
considering  an  abstract  historical  proposition,  nor  have  we  to 
deal  with  this  new  party  as  a  national  fact.  We  are  talking 
practically  of  municipal  affairs  —  at  most,  of  a  State  cam- 
paign— and  we  have  to  consider  that  distinct  section  of  the 
general  detritus  which  has  accumulated  around  our  own  local- 
ity. It  may  be  a  good  thing  that  snow  should  fall  on  the  prai- 
ries and  the  farms.  In  due  course  it  will  melt,  and  moisten 
the  soil,  and  be  led  into  its  proper  channels  in  the  river-beds. 
Let  it  fall,  then,  and  lie  there,  by  all  means.  But  shall  we  not 
shovel  off  that  which  has  drifted  on  our  own  front  door- 
steps ?" 

"  You  mean  that  the  Populist  party  here,  because  it  happens 
to  be  opposed  to  you,  must  be  beaten  down  and  smothered  ?" 
Marsh  asked.  "  And  if  this  is  done  in  each  separate  locality, 
what  becomes  of  the  great  mass  in  the  country  at  large  as  a 
possible  power  for  good  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  while  the  great  mass  may  be  no  worse 
than  neutral,  and  may  contain  the  potentiality  of  good,  the 
local  portion  of  that  mass  with  which  we  have  to  deal  is 
working  for  harm — desperate  harm.  If  you  will  pardon  me, 
here  is  your  fallacy.  The  party  as  a  whole  is  leaderless  ; 
therefore  you  assume  that  in  its  several  parts  it  is  unled. 
The  snow  falls  evenly  over  the  plains  and  lies  there ;  but  are 
we  to  ignore  the  local  eddy  which  swirls  it  round  the  street- 
corner  into  our  faces  and  chokes  up  our  halls  ?  What  are 
Sullivan  and  the  City  Hall  crowd — Wollmer  and  the  labor 
chiefs  —  Bailey  and  the  Democratic  Central  Committee — if 
they  are  not  leaders?  And  what  are  they  working  for? 
What  will  be  the  result  if  they  are  victorious  at  the  polls 
next  month?" 

"  With  similar  victories  in  other  parts  of  the  country, 
which  I  believe  will  occur,"  said  Marsh,  "it  will  help  to  in> 


A   TALK    AT   THE    CLUB  205 

press  upon  the  people  the  fact  that  the  new  force  is  a  force 
which  must  be  reckoned  with.  It  will — for  nothing  succeeds 
like  success — give  the  party  itself  more  strength  and  cour- 
ao-e.  It  will  help  to  unify  it.  It  may  call  out  the  leaders 
who  are  destined  to  mould  it — the  men  who  will  temper  it, 
and  harmonize  it,  and  show  it  the  straight  path  to  the  work 
which  it  has  to  do.  And  when  that  work  is  done,  it  will  be 
found  that  the  shadow  of  revolution  now  hanging  over  the 
country  will  have  passed  away." 

"  And  locally  ?"  asked  the  major. 

"  Locally  ?  Well,  locally — in  the  State  and  in  the  city — I 
believe  that  the  Democracy  is  as  capable  of  giving  a  reason- 
ably good  government  as  is  the  Republican  party." 

"  But  there  is  the  trouble,"  broke  in  the  judge ;  "  it  is  no 
question  of  Republican  or  Democrat.  Supposing  that  this 
conglomeration  had  been  joined  to  the  Republican  party  two 
years  ago,  I  should  be  a  Democrat  at  this  election,  Bartop 
would  be  the  party's  candidate  for  governor,  and  you  would 
work  with  us  to  have  him  elected.  There  is  little  difference 
enough  between  the  two  parties,  and  little  enough  between 
the  men  who  compose  them.  Neither  is  inspired;  nor  is 
either  entirely  diabolical.  In  the  past  the  Democracy  has 
shown  itself  capable  of  the  worst  abuses  in  municipal  affairs, 
and  the  Republican  party  has  produced  the  greatest  national 
scandals,  which  is  only  a  result  of  the  fact  that  the  Demo- 
crats have  been  chiefly  in  control  in  our  large  cities,  and 
the  Republicans  most  in  power  in  federal  affairs.  Each  has 
sinned  in  proportion  to  its  opportunity.  Had  the  positions 
been  reversed,  the  burden  of  offence  would  have  to  be  ex- 
changed. But  here  comes  in  a  new  factor  —  neither  Re- 
publican nor  Democratic,  but  composed  of  all  the  bad  and 
dangerous  and  disaffected  elements,  which  happens  tempora- 
rily to  be  tacked  on  to  the  tail  of  the  Democracy.  They  have 
not  one  good  aim.  There  is  no  one  man  who  is  trying  to 
lead  them  aright,  with  the  exception  of  yourself.  They  have 
alienated  the  good-will  of  the  decent  men  of  their  own  party, 
and  have  attracted  to  them  the  scum  of  the  other.  And  you 
are  working  with  them — why  V 

"  How  comes  there  to  be  this  large  element  of  the  disaf- 


206  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

fected  ?"  asked  Marsh,  in  his  turn.  "  What  is  the  ground  of 
their  discontent  ?" 

"  Ignorance  chiefly,"  replied  the  major,  shortly — "  igno- 
rance and  false  teaching." 

"  That  is  a  large  question,"  Judge  Jessel  said,  more  deliber- 
ately. "  In  the  main  the  third  party  consists  of  two  distinct 
classes  —  the  labor  element  and  the  granger  element.  They 
are  the  counterpart  of  each  other,  and  at  bottom,  in  spite  of 
surface  differences,  it  is  a  mistake  to  say  that  their  alliance 
is  not  legitimate  and  natural.  They  are  the  two  halves  of 
the  one  portion  of  mankind,  each  modified  according  to  its 
environment :  in  the  one  case  the  environment  of  city  life, 
and  in  the  other  the  environment  of  the  farm.  The  labor 
element  (and  mind  that  a  sharp  distinction  must  be  drawn 
between  the  labor  element  and  the  working-men  —  the  labor 
element  as  a  political  factor,  a  public  entity,  is  no  more 
coextensive  with  the  working-man  than  is  the  Prohibition 
party,  politically,  coextensive  with  that  mass  of  the  people 
who  do  not  drink — the  labor  element,  as  we  speak  of  it,  is 
a  small  portion  of  the  working-class — a  portion  which  has  a 
certain  fanaticism  and  love  of  notoriety — united  to  a  large 
number  of  men  who  ought  to  be  working  but  will  not) — the 
labor  element,  I  was  saying,  if,  individually,  it  had  gone  to 
farming,  would  be  grangers.  The  members  of  the  Farmers' 
Alliance,  had  they  happened  to  stay  in  cities,  would  be  the  la- 
bor politicians.  Coelum,  non  animum —  It  is  the  surroundings, 
not  the  nature,  which  makes  one  one  and  the  other  the  other." 

"  But  how  has  either  come  to  be  where  it  is  ?"  asked 
Marsh.  "  There  never  was  in  history  a  case  of  popular  dis- 
content without  a  legitimate  popular  grievance  at  the  bottom 
of  it.     It  is  only  the  smoke  from  the  fire." 

"  There  never  was  in  history  a  case  where  a  large  part 
of  any  people  did  not  consider  themselves  to  be  ill-used," 
replied  the  judge.  "  As  a  mass,  these  people  all  believe  that 
society  as  it  is  now  constituted  is  in  conspiracy  against 
them.  You  and  I  know  very  well  that  individually  a  great 
majority  of  them  are  incapable  of  maintaining  themselves 
decently  in  any  condition  of  society.  If  we  had  a  dividing 
up  and  a  new  start,  so  that 


A   TALK    AT   THE    CLUB  207 

1  Distribution  should  undo  excess, 
And  each  man  have  enough,' 

it  would  not  be  ten  years — not  two— before  they  wanted  anoth- 
er division.  Even  the  Chinese  plan  (or  is  it  Japanese  ?)  of  wip- 
ing off  all  debts  with  the  new  year,  so  that  every  man  begins 
even,  would  be  no  good.  No  one  would  trust  them  after  the 
first  year,  and  their  last  state  would  be  worse  than  their  first. 
I  admire  the  American  farmer  as  a  whole,  and  have  great 
sympathy  with  him.  We  all  must  have.  He  is  a  great  part 
of  our  country's  strength.  But,  again,  we  are  considering  him 
in  the  mass.  Take  him  as  an  individual,  and  I  grant  his  stur- 
diness  and  intelligence,  and  even,  from  a  common-school  point 
of  view  (in  the  rudiments  of  ordinary  learning  as  it  is  taught 
in  schools),  I  grant  his  education.  But  when  it  comes  to  po- 
litical and  economic  teaching,  he  is  either  as  ignorant  as  a 
child  or  helplessly  ill-taught.  The  ability  to  spell  and  '  fig- 
ure '  does  not  equip  a  man  to  use  his  political  judgment. 
The  bane  of  the  farmer  (of  course  I  mean  the  Western  farm- 
er) has  been  and  is  his  inaccessibility.  In  his  scattered,  iso- 
lated situation  he  is  not  reached  through  the  ordinary  chan- 
nels of  information  by  which  the  educated,  thinking  man  in 
the  city  is  instructed.  Literature  does  not  reach  him.  He 
is  not  lectured  to.  He  is  not  in  contact  with  current  thought ; 
it  does  not  circulate  in  his  atmosphere.  The  difficulty  of  ar- 
riving at  and  arguing  with  him  in  the  mass  is  so  great  that, 
in  each  locality,  he  has  been  left  to  the  instruction  of  his  local 
prophets — usually  one  of  himself,  a  farmer  like  himself,  who 
has  no  advantage  over  him  except  a  certain  fluency  of  speech, 
and  who  is  shrewd  enough  to  see  that  politics  offers  an  easier 
career  than  farming.  This  man  is  as  thoroughly  unfit  to  teach 
as  a  man  could  be — mentally  unfit,  and,  what  is  more,  mor- 
ally unfit,  because  he  has  no  larger  ends  to  serve  than  his 
own  advancement.  The  farmers,  as  a  whole,  are  having  hard 
times,  and  vaguely  think  that  they  are  ill-used  and  need  a 
change — no  matter  what.  The  prophet  arises  and  promises 
them  a  change  —  if  they  will  send  him  to  the  legislature. 
Generally  he  attacks  the  nearest  railway  company,  because 
that  happens  to  be  the  most  tangible  manifestation  near  at 


208  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

hand  of  the  concentrated  wealth  and  power  of  society.  On 
it  he  unloads  all  the  burden  of  the  farmers'  ills — makes  it  re- 
sponsible for  poor  (or  too  plentiful)  crops,  and  for  the  for- 
eign competition  which  affects  prices  in  European  grain-mar- 
kets. The  farmer  has  no  other  teaching,  and  believes  him. 
And  there's  where  the  trouble  begins.  This  has  been  going 
on  all  over  the  West  now  for  some  decades.  Those  who 
ought  to  have  been  the  farmers'  right  teachers  have  let  them 
alone — left  them  to  the  local  demagogue.  The  result  is  the 
Populist  party.  And  it  has  not  only  been  with  the  farmers 
proper,  but  with  all  Western  communities — farming,  mining, 
and,  on  a  small  scale,  even  industrial.  The  President  of  Har- 
vard College,  a  short  time  ago,  made  a  speech  somewhere — 
in  St.  Louis,  I  think — in  which  he  said  that  the  chief  danger 
to  the  country  lay  in  the  'uninformed  public  opinion'  of  the 
West.  He  was  badly  abused  for  it ;  but  I  thought  it  was  the 
best  thing  that  had  been  said  on  our  public  affairs  for  a  long 
time.  It  is  not  only  uninformed,  it  is  wm-informed  public 
opinion.  The  farmer  not  only  needs  teaching,  he  needs  un- 
teaching.  He  has  been  neglected  for  so  long  and  left  only 
to  bad  influences  that  the  undoing  of  what  has  been  done 
wrongfully  will  be  a  tremendous  task.  But  it  will  have  to 
be  done.  What  is  needed  first  is  schools — schools — schools. 
But  they  are  not  enough.  The  rising  generation  will  come 
out  of  its  schools,  and,  exposed  to  the  same  influences,  will 
go  as  its  fathers  went.  It  is  the  later  instruction,  post-grad- 
uate teaching  in  the  rudiments  of  sociology  and  economics 
that  is  needed.  And  it  must  be  given,  if  the  country  is  to  be 
saved  from  chaos  and  catastrophe." 

"  It  is  something  of  that  kind  of  teaching,"  said  Marsh, 
"  which  we  are  now  trying  to  give." 

There  was  silence  for  a  while. 

"  Suppose  we  adjourn  down-stairs  for  our  coffee  ?"  suggest- 
ed the  major,  and  the  party  rose  and  moved  to  the  wine- 
room,  where  cigars  were  permitted,  much  to  the  disappoint- 
ment of  the  waiter,  who,  notwithstanding  his  well -trained 
rigidity  of  attitude  and  his  imperturbable  countenance,  was 
something  of  a  politician  himself,  and  was  interested  in  the 
discussion. 


A   TALK    AT   THE    CLUB  209 

When  they  were  seated  around  the  small  table  in  the  wine- 
room  the  conversation  was  resumed,  but  in  more  desultory 
and  less  formal  fashion. 

"  I  know,"  said  the  judge  to  Marsh — "  I  know  that,  as  you 
say,  you  are  trying  to  teach  these  men  rightly,  and  I  honor  you 
for  it.  I  wish  there  were  more  doing  the  same.  But,  if  you 
will  pardon  me,  my  young  friend  " — and  he  laid  his  hand  on 
Horace's  shoulder — "  I  am  afraid  that,  in  your  enthusiasm  for 
your  work  and  your  high  ambitions  for  the  party  as  a  whole, 
you  are  in  danger  of  failing  to  see  the  particular  direction  in 
which  the  party  locally  is  travelling." 

Marsh  was  silent. 

"  Nor  do  we  want  you  to  misunderstand  us,"  said  Major 
Bartop.  "  Men  are  at  work,  of  course,  all  day  long  and  every 
day — men  of  both  parties — trying  to  win  over  men  from  the 
other  parties.  You  will  not  think  that  we — the  judge  and 
myself — have  any  narrow  or  merely  partisan  objects  to  serve. 
You  know  us  better.  Next  year  probably  Jessel  and  I  will" 
be  enemies  again.  Just  now  it  seems  that  all  good  men  are 
uniting — except  you.     And  we  want  you  with  us." 

"  No,"  said  Marsh ;  "  of  course  I  understand  all  that,  and  I 
am  flattered  that  you  think  me  worth  working  with." 

"  We  do,  frankly,"  interrupted  the  judge  ;  "  you  are  the  one 
man  on  the  Democratic  side  just  now  who  is  worth  working 
-with — the  one  public  man ;  which  is  to  say  that  you  are,  in 
our  opinion,  a  good  deal  the  best  man  in  your  party." 

Marsh  bowed  his  head  in  acknowledgment. 

"  Well,  with  all  my  thanks,"  he  said,  "  I  do  not  think 
there  is  much  chance  of  my  changing  sides  in  this  cam- 
paign. There  may  be  personal  reasons — in  regard  to  Gen- 
eral Harter,  you  understand — which  would  make  it  particularly 
difficult  for  me  to  change.  But,  apart  from  that,  I  believe  in 
the  cause.  I  believe  in  the  possibilities  of  the  party.  I  be- 
lieve in  human  nature  —  it  is  part  of  me  to  do  it.  I  think 
you  underestimate  the  goodness  of  the  motives  of  some  of 
the  Democratic  leaders,  and  overestimate  the  danger  which 
the  party's  success  would  mean  to  the  city  and  the  State. 
I  don't  think  you  will  find  that  the  country  will  be  ruined  if 
the  allied  parties  do  remain  in  powrer  a  while  longer." 

14 


210  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

"  Well,"  said  the  judge,  rising,  "  a  man's  convictions 
would  not  be  worth  holding  if  they  could  he  changed  by  one 
talk  over  a  luncheon-table ;  but  we  wanted  to  have  the  talk, 
and  I  hope  you  will  think  over  it,  and  look,  if  you  can,  more 
clearly  into  the  local  situation,  and  the  direction  in  which 
the  teaching  of  your  friends  is  trending." 

"  If  you  do  ever  find  it  necessary  to  change,"  said  the  ma- 
jor, "  you  know  now  that  we  shall  welcome  you." 

The  party  separated  at  the  cloak-room,  and  Horace  has- 
tened back  to  his  office.  It  was  impossible  that  the  talk 
should  not  have  made  an  impression  on  him  ;  but  as  soon  as 
he  had  separated  from  his  friends  the  eagerness  to  receive 
Jessie's  answer  reasserted  itself. 

As  he  left  the  club  an  incident  occurred  which  he  remem- 
bered afterwards.  On  the  door-step  two  men  were  standing, 
both  members  of  the  club — Blakely  and  Carrington,  the  lat- 
ter the  husband  of  Mrs.  Carrington,  of  whom  we  have  already 
caught  a  glimpse.  The  two  seemed  to  be  engaged  in  an 
altercation  of  some  kind,  and  barely  recognized  Horace  as  he 
passed.  He  could  not  help,  however,  hearing  some  words 
spoken  by  Carrington. 

"  I  have  not  asked  you  any  questions,  sir,"  he  said,  "  nor  do 
I  wish  to  discuss  the  matter  with  you.  I  simply  inform  you 
that  I  do  not  wish  you  to  come  again." 

And  Horace,  hurrying  to  his  office,  pondered  over  the 
scene. 

"  A  messenger  brought  a  note  for  you  a  few  minutes  ago, 
sir,"  said  Franklin,  as  Horace  entered,  "and  said  the  lady 
wanted  an  answer.  I  told  him  you  would  send  one  as  soon 
as  you  came  in.     The  note  is  on  your  desk." 

With  a  beating  heart  Marsh  tore  open  the  envelope.  It 
contained  a  short  but  gushing  epistle  from  Mrs.  Carrington, 
asking  if  Mr.  Marsh  would  join  them  at  dinner  that  evening, 
and  if  he  would  promise  not  to  be  offended  at  being  asked 
at  the  eleventh  hour. 

"  Is  this  the  only  thing  that  has  come  for  me?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

And  Horace  sat  down  and  gazed  blankly  out  of  the  win- 
dow, wondering  what  the  silence  could  mean. 


XVII 

BETWEEN  THE  CUP  AND  THE  LIP 

When  Miss  Holt  received  Marsh's  note  she  glanced  over 
it,  and  threw  it  into  the  fire.  The  feeling  that  it  excited 
was  chiefly  one  of  contempt  of  his  pretended  innocence.  It 
was  a  shallow  trick,  at  best.  How  could  he  imagine  that  she 
would  for  a  moment  believe  that  he  did  not  thoroughly  un- 
derstand what  it  was  that  had  given  the  offence  ?  How 
could  he  believe  that  she  would  for  an  instant  consent  to 
aro-ue  the  matter  with  him  ?  He  trusted,  doubtless,  to  his  own 
glib  tongue,  if  an  opportunity  was  given  him,  to  persuade 
her  that  he  was  impelled  in  his  treachery  only  by  the  high- 
est motives.  He  counted  upon  her  simplicity  and  lack  of 
knowledge  of  the  world.  But  she  would  not  give  him  the 
opportunity,  for  she  would  take  no  notice  of  his  letter. 

But  though  she  affected  to  dismiss  the  matter  lightly,  and 
turned  away  to  her  household  duties  with  a  song  upon  her  lips, 
as  she  tossed  the  note  into  the  fire  her  heart  ached  within  her. 
It  has  been  said  that  if  Jessie  had  met  Horace  as  a  char- 
acter in  a  novel,  she  would  have  admired  him  unreservedly, 
and  have  thought  him  worthy  to  win  the  best  woman  that 
lived —  the  Horace,  that  is,  of  the  old  days — Horace  before 
he  fell.  Under  any  circumstances,  his  cleanliness  and  ear- 
nestness of  character,  his  quiet,  unobtrusive  manliness  must 
have  appealed  to  her.  In  the  crisis  through  which  she  was 
now  passing,  when  the  crudest  realities  of  life  had  for  the 
first  time  been  laid  open  before  her,  and  when  her  whole 
being  shuddered  at  the  new  knowledge  that  had  come  to  her, 
it  was  precisely  he — or  such  a  man  as  she  had  imagined  him 

to  be that  she  needed.     She  was  so  alone  in  the  darkness! 

Out  of  the  abyss  her  soul  cried  for  some  human  comfort. 


212  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

Not  content  with  threatening  the  lives  of  Mr.  Holt  and 
the  other  officers  of  the  two  companies  directly,  the  strikers 
had  begun  to  send  anonymous  letters  even  to  her.  She  had 
already  received  two  in  different  handwritings,  but  couched 
in  almost  the  same  words :  if  she  did  not  wish  her  father 
to  be  killed  she  had  better  use  her  influence  to  make  him 
yield.  She  had  not  mentioned  them  to  any  one,  but  had 
asked  her  father  whether  he  had  received  any  threats  against 
his  life. 

"  Oh  yes  ;  some,"  he  answered,  lightly. 

Every  moment  that  he  was  away  from  the  house  now  was 
a  moment  of  torture  for  her.  From  the  time  that  he  left  in 
the  morning  until  his  return  in  the  evening  she  awaited  in 
terror  the  news  of  some  calamity.  Every  ring  at  the  tele- 
phone, every  messenger  who  arrived  at  the  door,  made  her 
heart  stand  still.  Her  friends,  meaning  it  well,  united  to  in- 
crease this  fear. 

"  I  should  think  you  would  be  very  anxious  lest  something 
should  happen  to  Mr.  Holt,"  they  would  say. 

"  Oh  no,"  she  would  reply,  calmly.  "  He  has  no  fear  that 
they  will  attack  him  personally." 

But  every  day  her  wretchedness  grew  more  nearly  insupport- 
able, and  Miss  Willerby  saw,  with  secret  misgivings,  her  list- 
lessness  during  the  day  and  the  heaviness  of  the  eyes,  which 
told  of  sleepless  nights ;  and  she  did  what  she  could  to  com- 
fort her.  But  it  was  not  a  woman's  comfort  that  Jessie  needed, 
but  that  of  a  man  with  knowledge  of  the  world — one  who  was 
accustomed  to  look  the  real  things  of  life  in  the  face  ;  to 
whom  she  could  unburden  her  heart  of  its  load,  and  appeal 
for  guidance  and  consolation. 

It  was  unavoidable  that  her  thoughts  should  now  turn  to 
the  Marsh  who  had  been.  He  was  no  longer  part  of  her  life. 
No  relation  existed  between  him  and  her  heart  to  prejudice 
her  judgment  of  him.  She  could  see  him  now,  as  it  were, 
impersonally  and  dispassionately.  He  was  not  even  a  charac- 
ter in  fiction,  except  in  the  fiction  of  her  own  imagination. 
He  had  never  existed ;  but  oh !  if  he  had —  If  only  such  a 
man  were  to  come  to  her  now,  how  gladly  she  would  confide 
in  him  and  trust  him,  placing  her  heart  and  her  mind  in  his 


BETWEEN    THE    CUP    AND   THE   LIP  213 

care.  As  a  young  girl  dreams  of  the  prince  with  his  sword 
and  his  plume  who  is  some  day  coming  to  seek  her,  so  Jessie 
now  longed  for  the  prince  of  her  imagining  —  a  latter-day 
prince,  armed  only  with  his  courage  and  the  purity  of  his 
ambition,  who  would  pass  his  arm  round  her  and  support  her 
while  they  faced  this  danger  of  life  together — a  prince  with 
just  such  a  face  and  manner  as  Marsh  had  had  in  the  former 
days. 

As  is  often  the  case  with  better  men  than  he,  Blakely  suf- 
fered by  the  hold  which  this  ideal  had  upon  her  mind.  Many 
a  lover  has  failed  because  the  heart  that  he.would  win  was 
already  in  possession  of  a  rival  who  had  no  existence  outside 
of  the  heart,  and  who  might  be  an  entirely  impossible  charac- 
ter. Daughters  of  men  still  walk  with  the  sons  of  God  in 
their  fancies,  and  for  their  sakes  the  sons  of  men  are  rejected. 
In  the  loneliness  of  her  desolation,  Jessie  never  dreamed  of 
casting  Blakely  for  the  part  of  the  fairy  prince — withal  that 
his  face  mig-ht  better  fit  the  role  than  Horace's.  Without 
reasoning  it  out  with  herself,  she  knew  that  it  was  to  another 
side  of  her  nature  that  Blakely  spoke.  He  might  fascinate 
and  dazzle  her  so  that  she  would  forget  the  hunger;  but 
satisfy  the  craving,  never !  A  drug,  however  potent  and  in- 
toxicating, will  not  feed  the  starving,  though  it  may  dull  the 
pain  and  give  happiness  till  the  waking  come. 

"  What  a  splendid  lover  Mr.  Blakely  would  make  I"  Miss 
Caley  had  exclaimed  one  day. 

"  And  what  a  terrible  husband  !"  Miss  Willerby  had  added. 

Jessie,  as  she  sat  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  apparently 
immersed  in  her  book,  had  heard  the  conversation ;  and  in 
her  heart  she  recognized  the  truth  of  Miss  Willerby's  rejoin- 
der. But  when  the  pain  is  at  its  worst,  the  temptation  to 
seize  the  relief  which  the  drug  will  bring  may  be  beyond  re- 
sisting, and  the  solace  of  it  for  a  while  unutterably  sweet. 

Blakely,  meanwhile,  was  constant  in  his  attentions  without 
being  obtrusively  persistent.  Almost  every  day  he  sent  her 
flowers — bouquets  that  were  daintily  chosen,  a  few  choice 
blossoms  and  a  frond  of  fern,  perhaps,  or  a  single  perfect 
spray  of  orchids — on  which  she  could  not  but  see  that  he 
had  expended  some  thought,  instead  of  leaving  the  selection 


214  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

of  his  gift  to  the  taste  of  the  florist.  Once  she  received  a 
book  from  him — the  book  which  she  had  been  reading  that 
day,  and  which  he  wished  her  to  read.  It  was  what  is  known 
to-day  as  an  old-fashioned  romance,  wherein  the  heroine,  fol- 
lowing the  dictates  of  her  own  heart,  fled  with  and  wedded 
the  reckless,  dashing,  prodigal  son,  whom  the  worldly  parents 
scorned  in  favor  of  a  commonplace  and  objectionably  worthy 
suitor  of  a  dull  and  workaday  kind.  On  the  very  day  of  the 
wedding  the  prodigal  son  fell  heir  to  the  colossal  fortune  of 
an  East  Indian  uncle,  and  the  volume  closed  in  an  atmos- 
phere heavy  with  the  scent  of  orange  blossoms,  and  with  just 
a  glimpse  of  vistas  of  ideal  and  golden  happiness  ahead  of 
the  wisely  wTayward  girl. 

Blakely  thought  that  the  moral  of  the  tale— that  a  young 
heart  is  better  than  old  heads — might  be  useful  to  him.  But 
he  had  miscalculated  somewhat.  He  had  not  looked  into  her 
mind  and  seen  with  what  a  glory  the  workaday  suitor  was 
invested  there.  He  could  not  guess  how,  in  passing  through 
the  prism  of  her  thoughts,  the  ordinary  white  light  of  day 
was  broken  into  glorified  tints  of  emerald  and  amethyst 
and  rose.  She  only  thought  the  tale  dull  and  "  washy" — as 
it  was. 

The  evening  that  Marsh  spent  with  the  Carringtons  (for 
he  had  accepted  the  tardy  invitation,  in  the  hope  that  he 
might  meet  her  there)  Blakely  spent  at  Jessie's  house.  Though 
Marsh  did  not  know  it,  it  was  Blakely's  place  that  he  was 
filling — the  latter  having  found  it  advisable,  for  reasons  which 
have  already  been  hinted  at,  to  send  his  regrets  that  very 
morning.  Jessie  had  passed  a  terribly  anxious  day,  for  the 
attitude  of  the  strikers  grew  constantly  more  bitter  and  threat- 
ening, and  she  welcomed  Blakely  gladly  when  he  came.  He 
in  his  turn  was  frank  and  outspoken  now  in  his  admiration 
of  her,  saying  to  her  things,  such  as  he  had  said  when  he 
parted  from  her  at  the  carriage  on  the  day  of  the  rescue,  of 
a  kind  which  no  man  had  dared  to  say  to  her  before.  It  was 
always  adroitly  done,  and  with  such  an  air  of  impulsiveness 
that  it  was  impossible  to  be  offended.  Indeed,  if  it  were 
most  ardent  love-making,  there  was  nothing  at  which  offence 
could  be  taken. 


BETWEEN    THE    CUP    AND    THE    LIP  215 

As  she  shook  hands  with  him  that  evening  he  had  said,  in 
low  tones : 

"  I  wish  you  knew  how  hard  it  is  for  me  to  let  your  hand 
go  when  you  give  it  to  me.  I  want  to  crush  it,  and  fall  down 
on  my  knees  and  worship  it.  I  would  rather  you  would  cut 
off  one  of  mine  than  take  yours  away." 

And  when,  later  on  in  the  evening,  she  had  thrown  a  light 
lace  scarf  over  her  shoulders,  he  had  exclaimed : 

"  What  a  shame  !  My  eyes  cannot  spare  an  inch  of  you. 
But" — as  he  leaned  forward  and,  making  pretence  of  adjust- 
ing the  lace,  let  his  fingers  brush  her  neck — "at  least  it  gives 
me  the  privilege  of  touching  you." 

That  evening  he  had  asked  her  to  take  a  walk  with  him 
on  the  following  Sunday  afternoon,  and  she  consented  to  do 
so  "  if  it  were  fine."  It  was  fine  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  he 
called  for  her.  As  they  were  starting  she  stopped  for  a  mo- 
ment before  a  large  mirror  in  the  hall  to  adjust  her  hat. 

"  Don't  touch  it,"  he  said  ;  "  you  are  too  unutterably  beau- 
tiful as  you  are." 

Then  he  had  stepped  into  the  sitting-room,  and,  taking  one 
of  his  own  lavender  orchids  from  a  vase,  had  handed  it  to  her, 
saying : 

"  Please  put  it  on,  there  " — indicating  her  bosom  by  touch- 
ing himself  on  the  chest.  "  Let  me  dream  that  it  is  I  who  am 
touching  you  there,  if  only  at  second-hand." 

And  she  had  put  on  the  flower  as  he  wished.  During  the 
walk  he  was  very  devoted,  seizing  every  pretext  of  an  uneven- 
ness  in  the  footway  to  touch  her  arm  as  if  to  support  her. 
There  was  no  need  of  assistance,  but  he  wished  to  convey  to 
her  the  idea  that  he  longed  to  touch  her.  More  than  once 
he  half  stopped  as  they  walked,  and,  stretching  out  his  arms 
before  him  as  if  in  ecstasy,  said  : 

"  Oh,  how  blissful  it  is !" 

She  was  conscious  that  there  was  a  certain  prematureness 
in  all  this — a  bold  assumption  of  relations  which  did  not  exist. 
The  passionate  outbursts  were  rather  those  of  an  accepted 
suitor  than  of  a  lover  who  had  still  the  heart  to  win.  It  was 
no  such  desperate  love  that  the  ideal  Marsh  would  have  made, 
but — well,  the  drug  was  sweet. 


216  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

But  she  was  rapidly  reaching  the  point  when  drugs  of  an- 
other kind  would  be  needed.  The  mental  distress,  the  anxi- 
ety and  sleeplessness  were  having  their  effect.  She  was  sel- 
dom ill,  unused  to  giving  way  to  little  ailments,  and  a  doc- 
tor rarely  visited  the  house  in  a  professional  capacity.  Had 
she  been  of  the  type  of  woman  that  takes  pleasure  in  being 
sick,  and  welcomes  an  opportunity  to  play  the  invalid,  she 
would  have  been  confined  to  her  bed  before  this.  As  it  was,  it 
needed  effort  each  morning  to  face  the  duties  of  the  day  ;  and 
when  there  was  none  to  see,  she  would  sometimes  sit  for  an 
hour  together,  thoroughly  exhausted,  in  some  easy-chair ;  her 
arms  hanging  down,  looking  blankly  into  space,  and  wonder- 
ing, only  wondering,  where  her  father  was,  and  what  would 
be  the  end  of  it  all. 

At  last  there  came  an  evening  when  it  was  necessary  to 
go  to  a  reception  given  by  Major  and  Mrs.  Bartop.  For  her 
own  sake,  Jessie  dreaded  going ;  for  she  knew  that  she  was 
not  equal  to  it.  Mrs.  Bartop's  receptions  were  formidable 
functions,  extremely  starched,  and,  as  Mrs.  Bartop  flattered 
herself,  very  free  from  anything  approaching  Western  uncon- 
ventionality.  There  would  be  a  great  crush,  with  little  chance 
to  sit  down,  much  smirking  and  exchanging  of  social  plati- 
tudes, and  some  lemonade.  The  thought  of  it  unnerved  her, 
but  Jessie  knew  that  for  the  sake  of  her  two  friends — or, 
rather,  of  one  of  them  (for  she  would  not  have  hesitated  to 
disappoint  Miss  Willerby),  it  was  necessary  to  go.  So  she 
braced  herself  for  the  effort  and  went. 

Blakely  was  there  also.  He  arrived  late,  according  to  his 
custom,  and  told  his  coachman  to  wait — he  would  not  be 
more  than  half  an  hour  or  so.  The  invariable  brevity  of  his 
stay  at  such  entertainments  was  partly  owing  to  the  fact  that 
they  really  bored  him  (in  which  he  was  not  peculiar),  but  still 
more  because  he  knew  that  this  line  of  conduct  was  socially 
effective.  He  did  not  propose  to  surfeit  society  of  his  com- 
pany.   Doled  out  in  small  doses,  it  would  always  be  in  demand. 

He  soon  discovered  Jessie,  and  was  struck  by  her  pallor. 
Indeed,  she  was  feeling  miserable.  She  was  struggling  to  sus- 
tain her  share  in  a  conversation  of  nothingness  among  the 
group  of  people  of  both  sexes  by  whom  she  was  surrounded ; 


BETWEEN    THE    CUP    AND    THE    LIP  217 

but  the  room  swam  round  her,  and  she  longed  for  air.  The 
unceasing  clamor  of  the  tongues  about  her  seemed  to  jar  her 
brain,  and  she  yearned  to  be  away  from  it  in  the  silence. 
She  welcomed  Blakely's  arrival  as  opening  a  possible  chance 
of  escape,  and  connived  readily  at  his  scheme  to  draw  her 
away  by  himself.  He  led  her  from  the  room  (which  was  on 
the  second  floor  of  the  house),  and  they  went  down-stairs. 
But  half-way  down  it  seemed  as  if  the  stairs  in  front  of  her 
heaved  upward,  and  she  was  compelled  to  clutch  at  the  baluster 
for  support. 

"  You  are  ill,"  he  said,  with  eager  tenderness.  "  I  saw 
how  pale  you  were  when  I  came  in." 

"  No,"  she  said,  wearily,  "  I  am  not  ill,  but  I  am  not  well. 
I  feel  as  if  I  were  going  to  faint.  I  ought  never  to  have 
come  this  evening." 

She  had  never  fainted,  and  had  all  a  woman's  horror  of 
making  a  "  scene  "  in  company. 

"  Well,  you  must  not  stay,"  he  said  ;  "  you  must  go  home." 

"  How  can  I  ?  The  carriage  will  not  be  here  for  an  hour 
and  a  half  yet,  and  I  cannot  leave  the  girls." 

"Yes,  you  can.  My  coupe  is  here — I  always  keep  it  wait- 
ing. You  can  go  home  in  that,  and  I  will  tell  Miss  Willerby 
and  Miss  Caley,  and  see  that  they  get  back  safely." 

She  hesitated  ;  but  the  stairs  still  swam  around  her,  and 
she  felt  that  her  knees  would  give  way. 

"  Perhaps  I  had  better,"  she  said,  faintly. 

Without  waiting  for  more,  Blakely  led  her  back  to  the 
floor  above,  where  the  ladies'  dressing-room  was,  and  left  her 
there.  When  she  came  out,  he  too  had  on  his  overcoat,  and 
his  hat  was  in  his  hand. 

"  Come  this  way,"  he  said,  and  took  her  down  by  a  rear 
flight  of  stairs  where  they  would  meet  no  one.  His  carriage 
was  quickly  called,  and  he  handed  her  in,  told  the  coachman 
to  drive  to  Mr.  Holt's  house,  and  stepped  in  beside  her.  She 
sank  back  into  her  corner  of  the  coupe  without  a  word,  too 
weak  and  sick  to  speak.  He  laid  his  hand  once  gently  on 
hers,  saying : 

"  Let  me  know  if  I  can  do  anything,"  and  relapsed  into 
silence  by  her  side. 


218  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

Once  in  the  course  of  the  drive  she  aroused  herself  enough 
to  say  : 

"  It  is  very  silly  of  me,  and  I  am  sorry  for  troubling  you." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  trouble  ?"  he  asked ;  and  the  drive  was 
completed  in  silence. 

Arriving  at  the  house,  he  rang  the  bell  and  handed  her 
carefully  out  of  the  carriage.     When  the  door  opened — 

"  You  will  come  in  ?"  she  said,  interrogatively. 

"  I  will  if  I  can  be  of  any  use,"  he  replied,  and  he  helped, 
almost  supported,  her  into  the  house. 

"  Are  you  any  better  ?"  he  asked,  so  that  Thomas  might 
understand  that  this  unexpected  return  was  owing  to  her  ill- 
ness. 

"I  think  I  am.  I  know  that  I  should  have  fainted  if  I  had 
not  got  away  from  the  crowd-  and  the  noise.  Is  Mr.  Holt 
in  ?"  she  asked  of  the  butler. 

"  No,  miss." 

Blakely  slipped  off  his  overcoat  quickly,  handed  it  with  his 
hat  to  Thomas,  and  followed  her  into  the  drawing-room.  She 
walked  languidly,  threw  her  wrap  over  a  chair  as  she  passed, 
and  advanced  to  the  fireplace,  where,  placing  her  hands  upon 
the  mantel,  she  leaned  her  forehead  upon  the  cool  marble  be- 
tween them.  The  room  was  lighted  only  by  the  doubtful 
flicker  of  the  flames  in  the  hearth  and  the  glow  which  came 
from  the  tall  lamp  by  the  piano,  with  the  rose-colored  shade. 
He  also  approached  the  fireplace,  and  stood  with  his  hands 
on  the  mantel.  The  house  was  very  still,  and  they  were  alone 
in  the  semi-darkness.  Was  she,  he  wondered,  as  acutely 
conscious  of  it  as  he  ? 

For  some  minutes  he  waited,  hoping  that  some  word  or 
movement  on  her  part  would  give  him  his  cue.  Meanwhile, 
the  very  silence,  with  their  proximity  and  isolation,  was  on 
his  side.     But  she  did  not  move  or  speak. 

He  raised  his  left  hand,  and  gently,  quietly  laid  it  on  hers. 
She  did  not  resist,  and  he  let  his  fingers  slowly  close  upon  it 
with  the  faintest  pressure.  He  moved  nearer  to  her,  and  laid 
his  lips  upon  her  hand  as  with  a  lingering  caress.  Still  she 
did  not  resist  (he  wondered  how  far  she  was  conscious  of 
what  he  did),  but  a  moment  later  she  drew  her  hand  away, 


BETWEEN    THE    CUP    AND    THE    LIP  219 

and,  turning,  moved  listlessly  towards  a  sofa.  He  followed, 
with  his  arm  lightly  encircling  her  waist.  As  she  reached 
the  sofa  she  fell,  rather  than  sat  herself  down,  upon  it, 
throwing  her  head  back  into  the  piled  cushions  with  her 
eyes  closed. 

Was  she  about  to  faint  ?  He  did  not  know  ;  but  at  least 
the  possibility  of  it  was  a  sufficient  excuse  for  anything.  So, 
sinking  on  one  knee,  with  his  left  hand  he  raised  her  feet  on 
to  the  lounge,  and  with  his  right  pulled  away  one  of  the  cush- 
ions, so  that  her  head  sank  lower. 

She  had  not  fainted,  for  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  looked  at 
him  with  a  long,  slow  gaze,  and  then  closed  them  again.  She 
was  conscious  that  she  was  lying  at  full  length  before  him 
and  that  he  was  leaning  over  her  ;  but  conscious  of  it  in  a 
curiously  far-away  manner,  and  oh  !  she  was  too  weak  and  too 
ill  to  resist. 

He  felt  his  heart  beat  almost  stiflingly  as  he  kneeled  by 
her  side.  How  white  and  clear  her  face  was  in  the  dim  li^ht, 
with  the  black  lashes  of  the  closed  eyes  and  the  curved  lips — 
the  beautiful  lips  which  were  now  at  his  mercy.  He  did  not 
put  his  own  to  them  at  once,  however,  but  approached  her  by 
almost  imperceptible  degrees.  Silently  he  placed  his  left  arm 
over  and  around  her,  pressing  the  hand  between  the  yielding- 
sofa  and  her  back.  Leaning  very  slowly  over  her,  he  passed 
his  right  hand,  palm  upward,  beneath  her  head.  Still  her 
eyes  did  not  open,  and  he  let  his  face  draw  nearer  to  hers, 
straining  her  body  gently  to  him  as  he  leaned.  Their  lips 
were  but  a  few  inches  apart.  He  felt  her  breath  upon  his 
cheeks,  and  knew  that  she  must  feel  his. 

"  My  darling,"  he  whispered  —  "  my  sweet  and  beautiful 
darling  !"  And  her  eyes  opened  slowly,  but  at  first  they  did 
not  seem  to  be  looking  into  his.  He  waited  until  his  gaze 
could  entangle  hers  before  taking  the  first  long  kiss.  But 
even  as  he  held  his  breath  for  the  meeting  of  the  lips  her  ex- 
pression changed — almost  imperceptibly ;  but  the  look  in  the 
eyes  as  at  last  they  met  his  fairly  was  not  one  of  passion  or  of 
love.  Her  right  hand,  which  had  lain  stretched  upward  against 
the  wall,  moved  between  her  lips  and  his. 

"  Let  me  get  up,"  she  said,  faintly  ;  but  he  did  not  move. 


220  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

"  No,  my  darling,  don't !"  he  whispered. 

"  Let  me  get  up,"  she  said  again,  more  firmly ;  and  he  knew 
that  he  must  do  it. 

Slowly  he  arose  and  helped  her  to  her  feet.  She  sat  for  a 
moment,  dazed,  before  rising,  and  passed  her  hand  languidly 
over  her  eyes. 

"  I  beo-  your  pardon,"  she  said,  as  at  last  she  stood  up.  "  I 
am  not  myself  to-night,  Mr.  Blakely.  Please  imagine  it  was 
some  other  girl.  I  can  hardly  see  now.  I  think  I  must  be 
ill."  And  she  sat  down  again  on  the  sofa,  and  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands. 

To  him,  as  he  saw  her  slipping  away  from  him,  it  seemed t 
as  if  the  whole  world  was  as  nothing  compared  to  the  win- 
ning of  her.  He  had  felt  so  in  somewhat  similar  circum- 
stances before  ;  but  for  the  moment  he  was  in  earnest.  All 
the  other  women  of  earth  did  not  count  in  comparison  to 
this  one  sweet,  dark -eyed  girl,  who  but  a  moment  before, 
he  had  believed,  was  his,  and  who  was  already  beyond  his 
reach. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  and  he  dropped  on  his  knees  at  her 
side — «  pardon  me  !     But,  oh  !  I  do  love  you  so  !" 

"  No,  Mr.  Blakely,"  she  said,  quietly,  as  she  drew  away  the 
hand  which  he  had  taken  and  rose  to  her  feet  again  ;  "it 
was  all  a  mistake.  I  cannot  say  that  I  was  unconscious  ;  I 
was  not.  But  I  did  not  know.  It  seemed  to  be  somebody 
else  that  was  here  —  not  I.  My  own  mind  — my  own  con- 
science— was  not  in  my  body.  It  was  a  mistake,  and  other 
things  have  been  mistakes.  I  have  been  too  wretched,  I 
think,  in  these  days  to  know  what  I  have  been  doing  or  what 
you  have  been  saying.  But  I  understand  now.  Please  be- 
lieve me — it  was  all  a  mistake." 

She  spoke  quietly  but  very  firmly,  and  moved  away  tow- 
ards the  fireplace  again.  He  felt  that  it  was  all  over ;  but  no 
game  is  lost  until  it  is  won,  and  in  critical  moments  the  bold 
play  is  always  the  best. 

"  It  was  not  a  mistake,"  he  said,  ardently.  "  Nothing  can 
be  a  mistake  which  makes  any  one  as  madly,  deliriously  hap- 
py as  I  have  been.  I  love  you  utterly,  Miss  Holt.  It  seemed 
to  me  as  if  Providence  had  given  you  to  me  this  evening, 


BETWEEN    THE    CUP    AND    THE    LIP  221 

and  I  will  not  believe  that  you  are  to  be  taken  from  me 
again." 

She  only  shook  her  head  and  smiled  wearily  into  the  fire. 
He  came  and  stood  by  her,  so  close  that  his  arm  touched  hers, 
but  there  was  no  response  to  the  contact,  no  evidence  that  it 
affected  her. 

"  The  passion  of  his  life,"  he  said,  "  is  not  given  to  a  man 
by  a  mistake.  I  have  longed  by  day  and  dreamed  by  night 
of  making  you  mine — of  possessing  you.  Just  now  you  were 
mine.  You  were  in  my  hands,  and  it  seemed  as  if  all  heaven 
was  given  to  me."  He  paused,  but  she  did  not  reply,  and  he 
added,  between  his  clinched  teeth,  "  I  wish  I  had  let  my  lips 
touch  yours  before  I  did.  You  would  not,  then,  so  easily  have 
thrown  me  aside." 

But  she  only  shook  her  head  in  silence,  and  he  dropped  to 
a  more  matter-of-fact  tone. 

"  Now  you  say  the  past  has  been  a  mistake.  To  -  mor- 
row you  may  see  that  you  are  mistaken  now."  Then,  pas- 
sionately, again  :  "  You  must  be  mine  !  Why  did  you  draw 
away  from  me  ?  Why  did  you  not  give  yourself  to  me  for 
just  one  minute  more  ?  I  do  love  you  so  !  I  could  take  you 
in  my  arms  now  and  crush  you,  and — "  And  as  if  he  were 
unable  to  end  his  sentence  for  passion,  he  reached  out  his 
hands  as  if  to  take  her. 

But  she  moved  away  from  him  again. 

"  No,"  she  said,  simply,  "  I  am  not  mistaken  now.  Out  of 
my  sickness  has  come  sanity.  Your  words  break  by  me  now 
without  touching  me.     I  do  not  feel  them." 

"You  are  ill,"  said  he,  shifting  his  ground,  "and  I  would 
give  all  the  world  to  help  you." 

11  Thank  you."  But  it  was  coldly  and  indifferently  spoken. 
So  he  changed  his  tone,  and,  laughing  lightly,  said  : 

"  But  the  way  to  help  a  woman  when  she  is  sick  is  cer- 
tainly not  to  bother  her  and  thrust  one's  self  upon  her.  I  will 
leave  you,  Miss  Holt.  The  two  poor  girls  at  the  Bartops'  will 
be  wondering  where  you  are,  and  I  must  go  and  tell  them." 

She  rose  to  say  good-bye  to  him,  and  gave  him  her  hand 
at  parting.     He  pressed  it  long  and  tenderly  as  he  said : 

"  It  was  not  a  mistake.     I  am  not  for  one  instant  going  to 


222  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

assume  that  it  was.  I  have  been  too  near  to  the  happiness 
of  my  life  to  let  it  go  so  lightly.  At  worst,  I  am  only  where 
I  was  before  I  met  you  this  evening — and  that,  I  think,  was 
at  least  somewhere  on  the  road  to  heaven." 

As  he  left  the  house,  however,  he  knew  in  his  heart  that 
this  was  not  so.  He  was  farther  away  than  he  had  been  from 
her  since  the  first  night  in  the  theatre,  when  they  had  not 
even  spoken.  He  might  renew  the  attack  —  he  would,  of 
course ;  but  he  knew  that,  barring  some  desperate  stroke  of 
luck,  it  was  a  forlorn  and  hopeless  outlook.  He  threw  him- 
self back  into  the  corner — her  corner,  he  thought,  cynically — 
and  lit  a  cigarette,  and  set  himself  calmly  to  think  it  over. 
Had  he  made  any  mistakes  ?  he  wondered.  He  must  have  ; 
because  when  a  man  misses  a  woman,  he  told  himself,  it  was 
always  by  his  own  mistake.  The  individual  characters  made 
no  difference.  It  was  just  a  question  of  the  man's  skill.  Up 
to  that  evening  he  could  not  think  that  he  had  made  any 
error.  The  way  had  been  straight  and  he  had  progressed 
rapidly.  And  that  evening?  Had  he  been  foolish  in  not 
pushing  her  more  ardently  ?  Suppose  that  he  had  made  pas- 
sionate love  to  her  in  the  coupe  ?  He  could  have  done  it  well, 
and  he  pictured  to  himself  what  he  might  have  done  and  said. 
He  might  have  established  a  different  footing  between  them 
before  they  had  reached  the  house,  and  would  have  had  less 
way  to  make  up  afterwards. .  Then,  in  the  house,  too,  he  had 
wasted  his  opportunities.  He  ought  not  to  have  waited  so 
long  and  given  her  time  to  recover  herself.  But  how  in  the 
world  was  he  to  know  that  she  would  do  it,  and  at  the  very 
moment  when  it  seemed  as  if  the  last  chance  was  gone?  If 
he  had  lost,  it  was  by  the  narrowest  margin.  And  his  thoughts 
slipped  back  into  reminiscences. 

When  he  reached  his  destination  he  was  thinking  of  other 
women. 

Miss  Willerby,  whom  he  found  without  difficulty,  received 
him  coldly.  She  had  seen  Miss  Holt  and  him  go  down  the 
stairs  together  the  first  time,  but  had  not  seen  them  return  to 
the  cloak-room  or  leave  the  house.  For  some  time  she  had 
supposed  that  Blakely  had  led  Jessie  to  some  out-of-the-way 
corner  of  the  house,  where  they  were  sitting.     At  length  she 


BETWEEN    THE    CUP    AND    THE    LIP  223 

had  grown  uneasy,  and  had  started  with  a  companion  to  look 
for  them.  It  was  only  a  minute  or  two  before  Blakely's  re- 
turn that  she  had  learned  from  the  maid  in  the  cloak-room 
that  Miss  Holt  had  left. 

As  Blakely  told  his  tale  she  looked  at  him  scrutinizingly, 
and  wondered  within  herself  what  might  have  happened  on 
the  drive  home  and  at  the  house.  Though  he  was  gay  and 
smiling,  he  had  not,  she  decided,  the  air  of  a  conqueror,  and 
was  much  comforted  thereat.  She  declined  his  offer  of  his 
coupe  to  take  her  and  Miss  Willerby  home,  as  the  Holt  car- 
riage must  be  there  by  this  time.  She  declined,  also,  his  of- 
fer to  go  and  find  Miss  Caley  for  her ;  she  was  much  obliged, 
but  she  would  do  it  herself.  And  she  left  him  feeling  rather 
uncomfortable — as  if,  in  some  way,  he  had  been  seen  through 
and  found  out. 

Jessie  had  waited,  standing  where  he  had  left  her,  until  she 
heard  Blakely's  carriage  drive  away,  and  until  Thomas  had 
disappeared  again  to  the  lower  regions.  Then  suddenly  her 
knees  gave  way,  and  she  flung  herself,  kneeling,  on  the  floor, 
burying  her  face  in  a  chair,  and  burst  into  passionate  sob- 
bing. They  were  tears  partly  of  shame  and  humiliation,  but 
in  the  flood  all  the  pent-up  wretchedness  of  the  past  weeks 
found  vent.  Thank  Heaven  that  he  had  not  kissed  her ! 
That  was  her  only  consolation.  Thank  Heaven  that  she  had 
recovered  her  senses  in  time  for  that !  But  that  she  herself 
should  ever  have  been  so  weak,  even  for  a  minute,  no  matter 
how  ill  she  was !  Knowing  herself  as  she  did,  but  being  un- 
able to  measure  the  strain  which  she  had  been  under,  it 
seemed  to  her  to  be  almost  incredible.  But  she  did  thank 
Heaven,  prostrating  herself  on  her  knees,  and  praying  with 
all  the  fervor  of  her  overwrought  nature  that  she  might  be 
made  stronger  against  peril  in  the  future ;  that  she  might  be 
shown  her  path  more  clearly ;  and  that  the  burden  of  these 
days  might  pass  from  her  father  and  herself. 

To  those  who  have  faith  prayer  never  fails  to  bring  solace 
and  peace.  By  degrees  her  paroxysms  subsided,  and  she 
rose  from  her  feet  with  her  mind  cleared,  feeling  less  shame 
for  what  she  had  suffered  than  gratitude  that  her  eyes  had 
been  opened  in  time. 


224  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

She  went  to  her  room  and  bathed  her  face,  endeavoring 
to  remove  the  traces  of  tears  before  her  friends  arrived.  So 
far  as  Miss  Caley  was  concerned  she  need  have  felt  no  con- 
cern, for  that  young  lady  was  plunged  in  an  abyss  of  woe. 
Something  evidently  had  gone  amiss  between  her  and  Barry 
that  evening,  and  she  was  too  deeply  engrossed  in  the  task  of 
bearing  herself  with  the  properly  tragic  air  to  notice  others. 

But  Miss  Willerby,  though  Jessie  strove  to  keep  herself  in 
the  shadow  and  away  from  the  light,  saw  that  there  had  been 
weeping,  and  felt  misgivings.  So  she  was  very  tender  to  her 
hostess,  very  solicitous  as  to  the  sickness  which  had  taken 
her  away  from  the  reception,  and  very  affectionate  in  her 
parting  for  the  night. 

Miss  Caley  did  not  say  good-night.  Such  trivialities  were 
beneath  the  dignity  of  her  grief.  She  wrapped  herself  in  her 
sorrow  as  in  a  robe  of  state,  and  stalked  haughtily  to  her 
room.  Ten  minutes  after  the  door  was  locked,  however,  she 
was  stretched  in  luxurious  dishabille,  ecstatically  absorbed  in 
the  latest  and  flimsiest  novel. 


XVIII 

THE    FOUNDLING- 

On  leaving  Major  Bartop's  house  Blakely  drove  to  the  club. 
The  night  was  fine,  though  dark  and  moonless,  with  occa- 
sional  savage  gusts  of  wind.  The  club  was  but  a  short  dis- 
tance from  his  chambers,  so  he  dismissed  his  carriage  with 
the  intention  of  walking  home. 

Strolling  into  the  wine -room,  he  had  just  ordered  some 
brandy  and  soda  when  a  friend  entered. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  beat  me  at  a  game  at  billiards,  Blake- 
ly  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes  ;  I'm  willing.  Boy  " — to  the  retiring  waiter — "  bring 
my  drink  up  to  the  billiard-room." 

The  events  of  the  evening  certainly  had  not  impaired  the 
steadiness  of  Blakely's  nerves.  He  played  a  dashing  game, 
and  defeated  his  antagonist  comfortably. 

"  Oh,  you're  too  good  for  me,"  said  the  latter,  as  he  put 
up  his  cue. 

"  I'm  a  bit  above  my  form  to-night,"  remarked  Blakely,  as 
he  leaned  over  the  table  to  knock  the  balls  around  in  a  final 
stroke.  Then  he  dropped  his  cue  on  the  table,  and  dusted 
the  chalk  off  his  fingers  with  his  handkerchief. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  he  left  the  club.  It  was  now  just 
after  midnight.  As  he  descended  the  club  steps  he  saw  that 
the  sky  had  grown  blacker,  and  a  fierce  burst  of  wind  which 
came  swirling  up  the  street  made  him  turn  his  back  to  it 
and  pull  his  hat  more  firmly  on  his  head.  He  turned  up  the 
bottoms  of  his  trousers,  thrust  his  hands  into  his  overcoat- 
pockets,  and  set  his  face  homeward.  Between  the  gusts  the 
night  was  very  still,  but  at  each  corner  the  wind,  as  if  it 
had  lain  in  wait  for  his  coming,  jumped  out  upon  him  bois- 

15 


226  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

terously,  compelling  him  to  turn  sideways  to  it,  and  to  hold 
his  hat  on  his  head  with  one  hand.  The  swinging  signs  over 
the  sidewalk  creaked  and  rattled,  and  from  the  house-tops 
came  sudden  noises  of  loose  tiles  and  chimney-tops  swaying. 
In  the  shelter  of  the  next  block  of  buildings  the  stillness 
would  settle  down  again. 

Few  people  were  abroad,  and  Blakely  was  surprised  when 
about  half-way  between  two  cross-streets  he  met  a  woman. 
She  walked  fast,  with  some  kind  of  a  dark  shawl  thrown 
over  her  head,  and  keeping  her  face  averted  from  him  in 
passing.  Not  the  type  of  a  woman  that  interested  Blakely — 
a  house-servant  probably,  out  later  than  she  ought  to  be,  and 
hastening  home  in  fear  of  her  mistress's  disapproval. 

At  the  next  turning — perhaps  a  hundred  feet  farther  on — 
was  a  large  dry -goods  store,  with  broad  plate -glass  win- 
dows and  a  deeply  recessed  entrance  fronting  diagonally  on 
the  corner.  As  Blakely  reached  this  point  his  eyes  hap- 
pened to  fall  upon  what  he  supposed  to  be  a  dog  lying  in 
the  shelter  of  the  doorway.  Moved  by  some  idle  curiosity, 
he  stepped  towards  it.  No,  it  was  not  a  dog  ;  it  was  a  cat. 
No,  it  was  not  a  cat.  And  he  leaned  over  it  to  see  what  it 
might  be.  It  was  a  bundle  of  some  sort.  He  stretched  out 
his"  hand  to  it.  Inside  the  wrappings  was  something  firm 
and  warm.  Suddenly  it  flashed  upon  him.  It  was  a  child — 
a  baby. 

Then  he  remembered  the  woman.  Stepping  quickly  out 
to  the  sidewalk  again,  he  looked  in  the  direction  in  which 
she  had  been  going.  She  was  standing  at  the  next  corner, 
where  he  could  see  her  dark  figure,  motionless,  against  the 
street  lights  beyond.  A  second  later  she  disappeared  round 
the  corner.  Evidently  she  had  waited  to  see  if  he  would  no- 
tice the  child. 

Blakely  started  to  run  with  all  his  speed  towards  her. 
When  he  reached  the  corner  she  was  nowhere  in  sight ;  but 
she  could  not  have  reached  the  next  turning.  She  must  be 
somewhere  close  at  hand.  He  hurried  down  the  street,  look- 
ing on  every  hand.  In  the  rear  of  the  first  clump  of  build- 
ings a  narrow  alley  ran  off  the  main  street  to  the  right.  She 
must  have  gone  up  that,  he  thought.     A  gas-lamp  stood  at 


THE    FOUNDLING  007 

the  mouth  of  the  alley,  but  its  light  pierced  the  darkness 
only  for  a  few  yards,  beyond  which  all  was  black.  Blakely 
walked  cautiously  up  the  narrow  passage.  Everything  was 
still.  On  one  side  was  a  deep,  brick-arched  doorway— the 
rear  entrance  to  one  of  the  stores  which  faced  on  the  other 
street.  Was  there  something  black  in  the  shadow  of  the 
arch  there,  or  was  there  not  ?  Blakely  stepped  up  closer. 
Yes ;  here  she  was,  pressing  herself  back  in  the  corner  of  the 
doorway,  her  shawl  pulled  close  over  her  face.  Blakely 
raised  his  hat  instinctively. 

"Excuse  me,  but  is  that  your  child?"  he  asked. 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  again.  "  There  is  a  child 
in  a  doorway  on  the  next  street.     Did  you  leave  it  there  ?" 

Still  there  was  no  reply.  He  waited  a  moment,  and  then, 
reaching  out,  took  her  gently  by  the  arm  and  drew  her  from 
her  hiding-place.  As  he  did  so  the  light  of  the  gas-lamp 
fell  upon  her  face.     He  let  go  of  her  arm  suddenly. 

"  My  God  !"  he  exclaimed,  "Annie !" 

For  answer  the  woman  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
sobbed.     It  was  some  seconds  before  he  could  speak  again. 

"And — and  the  child  ?"  he  asked,  almost  timidly. 

"Oh  yes!  yes!"  and  she  fell  on  her  knees  before  him, 
sobbing  passionately.  "  Oh,  you  do  not  know  what  I  have 
suffered  !" 

"But  why  did  you  not  tell  me  in  time  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  could  not — I  was  ashamed  to — I  was  afraid.  So  I  wait- 
ed and  waited,  and  then  I  went  away." 

"  I  thought  you  went  to  your  aunt  P 

"  No  ;  I  pretended  to.  And  I  wrote  home  a  lie  about  mv 
having  got  off  accidentally  at  the  wTrong  place." 

She  was  still  kneeling  in  the  dirt  of  the  alley,  her  face 
leaning  on  her  hands,  which  clung  to  his  coat,  her  shoulders 
convulsed  with  sobs.  He  felt  the  situation  to  be  extremely 
embarrassing.  He  ought  to  show  some  tenderness  for  her, 
he  knew  ;  but  somehow  he  could  not  frame  the  words.  His 
chief  feeling  was  one  of  intense  annovance. 

"  Well/1  he  said,  at  last,  "  we  cannot  leave  the  baby  there 
while  we  talk.     You  wait  here,  and  I  will  go  and  fetch  it." 


228  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

lie  helped  her  to  her  feet  and  handed  her  back  to  the 
shadow  of  the  doorway,  then  retraced  his  steps  to  where  the 
child  lay.  If  any  one  had  passed  in  the  interval,  evidently 
the  bundle  had  not  been  noticed.  He  picked  it  up,  feeling 
curiously  awkward  and  fearful  of  breaking  it,  not  knowing 
which  end  was  which.  His  child !  He  ought,  he  told  him- 
self, to  feel  some  love  for  it — some  strange  yearning  towards 
its  helplessness.  But  he  did  not;  he  felt  only  dislike  and 
bitterness  against  it  for  thrusting  itself  upon  him.  He 
hoped  it  would  not  cry  ;  and  it  did  not,  but  lay  still  and 
peacefully  in  his  arms.  Why  had  she  not  done  different- 
ly? How  impossibly  foolish  women  were  in  times  of  crisis  ! 
And  by  what  mad  freak  and  caprice  of  chance  had  it  been 
ordained  that  he,  of  all  men  in  the  world,  should  be  the  one 
to  come  along  at  just  that  moment  ?  Yet  perhaps  it  was  as 
well,  he  thought.  Suppose  that  some  one  else  had  been  in 
his  place — had  found  the  child,  and  then,  as  he,  had  fol- 
lowed and  captured  her  !  Suppose  that  it  had  been  a  police- 
man ! 

Rejoining  her,  he  handed  her  the  child,  and  she  took  it 
eagerly  and,  with  the  quick,  instinctive  movements  of  mater- 
nity, cuddled  it  to  her  under  the  shawl. 

He  stood  back  beside  her  in  the  shadow.  A  gust  of  wind 
burst  up  the  alley,  making  the  dim  light  of  the  lamp  to  flick- 
er, and  rattling  a  loose  sign  on  the  wall  near  by. 

"  And  now  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  he  asked,  when 
the  gust  had  passed. 

She  told  him.  She  was  expected  to  arrive  home  the  next 
morning  at  eleven  o'clock.  She  had  taken  an  earlier  train 
which  had  reached  the  city  at  nine  o'clock  that  evening,  and 
had  left  the  car  with  the  child  at  Brooklyn  —  a  poor  suburb 
of  the  town,  some  four  miles  away.  From  there  she  had 
come  in  by  the  electric  road.  She  had  planned  to  abandon 
the  child,  as  he  had  seen.  There  was  a  train  leaving  the 
Union  station  at  half-past  one  that  morning — in  three-quar- 
ters of  an  hour  from  that  time — by  which  she  could  go  to 
Jackson,  reaching  there  at  six  o'clock,  and  meeting  the  in- 
coming train  on  which  she  was  expected  to  arrive,  which  left 
Jackson  at  six  fifteen.     She  would  return  on  that  train,  and 


THE    FOUNDLING  229 

nobody  would  know  that  she  had  not  come  all  the  way  from 
Indiana.  She  had  thought  the  plan  out  carefully,  with  a 
prescience  which  surprised  Blakely,  having  even  left  the 
train  when  it  waited  a  few  minutes  at  Jackson  and  bought  a 
ticket  from  there  to  the  city,  so  that  it  would  be  unnecessary 
to  show  herself  to  the  ticket-agent  that  morning,  or  to  spend 
time  which  might  be  valuable  in  getting  the  ticket  now. 

"  When  I  throw  off  the  shawl,"  she  said,  "  no  one  will 
ever  recognize  me  for  the  same  woman  as  got  off  at  Brooklyn 
with  the  baby." 

As  he  turned  it  over  in  his  mind,  it  seemed  to  Blakely  that 
this  was  the  best  plan  that  could  be  followed,  and  he  was 
immensely  relieved  that  he  was  not  to  have  the  responsibility 
of  finding  a  hiding-place  for  her  that  night. 

"  Have  you  money  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh  yes  ;  plenty,"  she  answered. 

"  Then  give  me  the  baby.  I  will  take  it  to  the  police-sta- 
tion and  say  I  found  it — which  I  did." 

"  They  won't  hurt  her,  will  they  ?"  she  asked,  anxiously,  as 
she  handed  the  child  to  him,  and  then  lightly  moved  a  corner 
of  the  cloak  in  which  it  was  wrapped  for  a  last  look  at  the 
little  face. 

"  Oh  no ;  they  will  advertise  it.  And  if  no  one  claims  it,  it 
will  go  to  one  of  the  institutions  and  be  well  cared  for." 

"  Can  I  find  out  where  she  goes  ?"  she  asked,  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  I  can  find  out  for  you,"  he  said.  "  Now,"  he  con- 
tinued, when  he  had  bestowed  the  child  upon  his  arm  as 
carefully  as  he  could,  "  you  have  half  an  hour  to  catch  your 
train.  We  must  not  leave  here  together.  I  will  go  this 
way  —  to  the  right.  You  wait  until  I  have  turned  the  cor- 
ner ;  then  you  start  to  the  left,  and  go  straight  to  the  station. 
Good-bye,  and  be  careful,"  and  he  prepared  to  leave. 

"  Kiss  me,  Marshal !"  she  said,  appeal ingly.  "  I  love  you  so, 
dear,  and  oh  !  I  have  suffered  so  much  !" 

There  had  been  a  time  when  he  had  sought  her  kisses 
eagerly,  but  now  something  in  him  shrank  from  her.  He 
kissed  her,  and  tried  to  make  the  caress  seem  loving  and  ten- 
der. But  it  was  difficult,  and  he  stepped  quickly  away  into 
the  darkness. 


230  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

It  was  but  a  short  distance  to  the  police-station.  As  Blake- 
ly  entered,  an  officer  lolled,  half  asleep,  on  the  long  wooden 
bench  which  ran  along  the  wall.  The  lieutenant  sat  at  his 
desk  on  the  raised  dais,  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  room 
by  a  wooden  railing.  As  the  door  opened,  the  man  on  the 
bench  woke  up.     Blakely  advanced  to  the  lieutenant. 

"  I  have  got  a  present  for  you,"  he  said,  resting  the  bundle 
on  the  railing. 

The  lieutenant  dropped  his  pen,  and,  leaning  over,  lifted  the 
shawl  from  the  child's  face. 

"  Jiggered  if  it  ain't  another  baby  !"  said  the  man,  as  he 
rose  from  the  bench  and  came  across  the  room,  treading 
heavily  on  the  wooden  floor.  "  In  these  hard  times,  seems  as 
if  it  rained  babies.     That's  the  third  this  week." 

"  You're  Mr.  Blakely,  aren't  you  ?"  asked  the  lieutenant. 

"  Yes." 

"  Where  did  you  find  it  2" 

"  In  the  doorway  of  that  dry-goods  store  at  the  corner  of 
Sixth  and  Quincy — what  is  its  name? — that  place  with  the 
large  windows  and  big  door  opening  on  the  corner." 

"  Griesheim's  ?"  suggested  the  lieutenant. 

"  Griesheim's  ;  that's  it,"  said  Blakely. 

"  Mike  found  one  in  the  same  place  about  a  year  ago,"  re- 
marked the  man.  "  Seems  a  popular  locality.  I  remember 
Griesheim  gave  it  a  whole  outfit  of  baby  things,  advertised  it 
in  the  papers,  and  worked  it  for  all  it  was  worth.  Pretty 
smart  old  man,  Griesheim.  Don't  let  nothin'  slip  by  him — 
even  babies." 

"  Seems  to  be  healthy  and  sleeping  like  a  good  un,"  re- 
marked the  lieutenant,  who  was  still  examining  the  baby. 
"  Looks  something  like  my  youngest  did  —  same  kind  of 
mouth."  Then  he  replaced  the  shawl  with  the  tenderness  of 
a  father,  and,  pulling  a  big  book  towards  him,  he  took  a  pen 
and  began  to  write  in  it. 

"  Marshal  Blakely,  isn't  it — your  name  ?"  he  asked,  after 
writing  a  line  or  two. 

"  Marshal  Blakely,"  said  the  other. 

"  Now  go  ahead  and  tell  your  story,"  said  the  lieutenant ; 
"  only  give  me  time  to  write  it.     Found   it  in  Griesheim's 


THE    FOUNDLING  231 

doorway — Sixth  and  Quincy — about  what  ?    One  o'clock  ?"  as 
he  glanced  at  the  clock. 

"  No ;  it  was  earlier  than  that.  I've  been  looking  for  the 
mother,"  Blakely  explained. 

"  Where  had  you  been  and  where  were  you  going  to  ?" 

"At  about  nine  o'clock  this  evening,"  Blakely  began,  "I 
went  to  a  reception  at  Major  Bartop's,  on  Adams  Avenue.  I 
left  there  at  about  nine  thirty,  and  drove  Miss  Holt,  who  was 
ill,  home  to  her  father's  house — Lawrence  Holt's,  on  Jefferson 
— and  got  back  to  Major  Bartop's  about  ten  thirty.  I  left 
there  at  ten  fifty  or  eleven  o'clock,  and  went  to  the  Union 
League  Club,  and  played  a  game  of  billiards  there  with  Ar- 
thur Caiderly.  I  don't  know  what  time  it  was  when  I  left. 
It  struck  twelve  while  we  were  playing  —  may  have  been 
twenty  minutes  or  half-past  when  I  came  away  and  started 
to  walk  to  my  rooms — " 

"  They  are  over  here  on  Eighth  Street,  are  they  not  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  Eighth,  between  Madison  and  Douglas.  As  I  came 
along  Sixth,  just  the  other  side  of  Griesheim's,  a  woman  passed 
me.     I—" 

"  What  kind  of  a  woman  ?    Best  description  you  can  give." 

Blakely  thought  a  moment.  Annie  was  dressed  all  in 
dark  clothes,  and  was  slender  and  blonde. 

"Well,  I  couldn't  see  well.  She  was  rather  large  — tall 
and,  I  should  say,  stout.  She  had  on  some  kind  of  a  lightish 
dress — sort  of  striped  print  or  something,  and  a  black  jacket, 
short.  Her  hair  was  dark,  as  nearly  as  I  can  guess.  It  is  a 
pretty  black  night,  and  I  did  not  notice  very  much." 

"Dark  —  stout — lightish  dress — jacket,"  murmured  the 
lieutenant  as  he  wrote.     "  Any  hat  ?" 

"  Let  me  see,"  pondered  Blakely.  "  I  am  almost  afraid  to 
say.  It  seems  to  me  she  had  a  largish  dark  hat,  but  I  would 
hate  to  swear  to  it." 

"  Largish  dark  hat  —  uncertain  about  hat,"  murmured  the 
lieutenant.     "  All  right.     Go  on." 

"  Then  I  found  this,"  said  Blakely.  "  At  first  I  thought 
it  was  a  dog,  and  I  don't  know  what  made  me  stop.  Then 
it  looked  like  a  cat.  It  wasn't  till  I  touched  it  that  I  saw 
what  it  was." 


232  MEN    BOKN   EQUAL 

"  How  about  the  woman  ?"  asked  the  lieutenant. 

"  As  soon  as  I  saw  it  was  a  baby,  I  started  to  look  for  her. 
I  ran  back  to  the  corner,  but  she  had  a  good  start  of  me.  I 
went  along  Sixth  to  Harrison,  and  up  an  alley  there  ;  poked 
around  in  the  dark  ;  then  came  back  along  Sixth  to  Quincy ; 
stood  around  for  a  bit,  and  wandered  up  to  Seventh  ;  looked 
into  alleys  and  doorways  and  things,  but  she  had  disap- 
peared. I  went  back  to  the  baby,  and  stood  there  for  ten  or 
fifteen  minutes,  thinking  she  might  show  herself  if  I  stayed 
quiet.     But  she  didn't.     Then  I  came  on  here." 

The  story  was  plausible,  and  had  been  given  in  a  straightfor- 
ward, consecutive  way.  The  lieutenant  read  it  over,  and  asked 
a  few  questions,  in  the  hope  of  locating  the  time  more  exactly. 
They  finally  decided  that  twelve  thirty-five  or  twelve  forty 
was  about  as  near  as  they  could  get.  Could  Mr.  Blakely 
give  any  better  description  of  the  woman  —  anything  pecul- 
iar in  her  walk,  or  anything  else  ?  No  ;  Mr.  Blakely's  recol- 
lection was  drained  dry. 

"  Tell  Charlie  to  come  in  here,"  said  the  lieutenant  to  the 
other  man.  The  latter  disappeared  through  a  door,  and  pres- 
ently returned  with  another  officer. 

"Baby's  been  found  in  the  doorway  of  Griesheim's  store 
by  Mr.  Blakely  here,"  said  the  lieutenant  to  the  new-comer. 
"  Just  before  finding  it  he  passed  a  woman — about  an  hour 
ago  now — tall,  stoutish,  light  dress,  black  jacket,  dark  hair. 
Just  go  and  hang  around  there,  and  see  if  you  run  against 
anybody  like  her.  Tell  the  other  men  in  that  neighborhood 
— Greeley  and  Mark." 

The  man  called  Charlie  repeated  the  description  of  the 
woman  as  given  to  him,  and  went  out  into  the  street. 

"Telephone  to  the  other  stations,  Maxey,"  said  the  lieuten- 
ant to  the  first  officer,  and  that  individual  disappeared  into 
the  closet  where  the  telephone  was  located. 

The  lieutenant  read  his  notes  over  to  Blakely. 

"  That  all  right  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes." 

"Anything  more  you  can  think  of?" 

"  No  ;  nothing  else." 

"Just  sign  your  name  there,  if  you  will,  please,"  indicat- 


THE    FOUNDLING 


ing  the  place  on  the  open  page  of  the  book  where  the  notes 
had  been  made,  and  handing  Blakely  a  pen.  "  And  now 
about  the  baby." 

He  leaned  over  and  moved  the  shawl  aside  again,  and,  put- 
ting his  rough  forefinger  under  the  baby's  hand,  raised  the 
soft,  limp  little  fingers. 

"  It's  a  pretty  child,"  he  said ;  "  look  at  those  fingers ! 
They  are  the  best  part  of  a  baby,  I  think.  About  two  weeks 
old — a  girl,  I  guess."  And  Blakely  only  just  checked  him- 
self from  saying  "  Yes,  she  said  so." 

"  You  don't  want  to  adopt  her  ?"  looking  up  at  Blakely. 

"  No,"  said  the  latter,  surprised.     "  Why  ?" 

"  The  finder  has  the  right  to  do  so — provided,  of  course, 
the  parents  do  not  turn  up.     Finder  has  first  chance." 

Blakely  laughed. 

"No.  I  confess  I  have  not  felt  any  yawning  need  of  an 
infant  yet." 

"  Wonder  if  she  has  ever  had  a  bottle  ?"  remarked  the 
lieutenant.  Again  Blakely  found  himself  on  the  point  of 
venturing  an  opinion.  This  second  narrow  escape  warned 
him  that  he  must  be  on  his  guard,  and  the  safest  course  was 
to  speak  as  seldom  as  possible. 

Maxey  now  returned  from  the  telephone. 

"  Just  go  back  and  call  up  the  <  Foundling  '  "  (as  the  insti- 
tution was  called  among  the  police),  said  the  lieutenant,  "  and 
ask  Mrs.  White  if  she  can  take  a  baby-girl  two  weeks  old. 
No  message  with  it." 

Maxey  disappeared  again.  The  door  opened,  and  another 
officer  entered. 

"Jinks  !"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  more  '  lost  or  stolens'  ?"  and  he 
looked  inquiringly  first  at  Blakely  and  then  at  the  lieuten- 
ant. The  former  kept  silence,  so  the  latter  explained  to  the 
new-comer  where  and  how  the  little  thing  had  been  picked  up. 
The  two  men  leaned  together  over  the  child,  while  Blakely 
marvelled  at  the  interest  which  they  showed  in  every  crease 
in  the  fat  fingers,  and  the  tenderness  with  which  they  lifted 
the  shawl  by  inches  away  from  the  small  crumpled  face. 

"  She  says  *  all  right,'  "  said  Maxey,  returning. 

"  Well,  you'd  better  take  it  up  right  away,"  said  the  lieu- 


234  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

tenant.  "  I  guess  there  is  no  message  with  it ;  they  usually 
pin  them  on  the  outside.  Have  Mrs.  White  undress  it  at 
once,  and  bring  the  clothes  back  here.  Make  her  look  at 
them  first,  and  see  if  there  is  anything  about  them  that  we 
would  not  notice — in  the  style  of  sewing,  and  so  forth — that 
would  be  likely  to  help." 

The  lieutenant  folded  the  shawl  again  over  the  child,  and 
Maxey  lifted  it  in  his  hands.  The  other  officer  opened  the 
door,  and  Blakely  drew  a  long  breath  as  it  closed  again 
behind  the  departing  policeman.  Once  more  he  told  him- 
self that  he  ought  to  feel  more  deeply.  It  was  his  own 
child  that  was  being  taken  through  the  black  and  windy  night 
to  an  institution  of  public  charity.  Surely  he  ought  to  feel 
stirred  in  some  way.  But  he  did  not ;  only  immensely  re- 
lieved— as  if  a  great  burden  were  lifted  from  him. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  addressing  the  lieutenant,  "  it  is  nearly  twTo 
o'clock.     If  I  can  be  of  no  more  use,  I  will  be  of!  to  bed." 

"  No  ;  that's  all,  I  guess,"  replied  the  other.  "  If  we  need 
you  in  any  way  —  for  identification  or  anything — we  can 
always  find  you,  I  suppose.  You  are  going  to  be  around 
town  for  a  while  ?" 

"  As  far  as  I  know." 

Blakely  buttoned  up  his  coat  and  prepared  to  go. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose  it 
is  all  in  the  line  of  your  duty — an  every-day  thing  with  you ; 
but  I  confess  I  feel  as  if  you  had  taken  a  load  from  me.  I 
did  not  know  what  the  devil  to  do  when  I  first  found  it." 

The  lieutenant  laughed. 

"  It  isn't  quite  the  same  as  finding  a  silver  dollar,  is  it  ?" 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  a  man  entered  whom 
Blakely  guessed  to  be  a  reporter. 

"  Anything  new  ?"  asked  the  representative  of  the  press. 

"  If  you  had  been  here  a  few  minutes  ago  you  might  have 
seen  a  baby,"  remarked  the  lieutenant. 

"  Can  see  all  I  want  at  home,"  remarked  the  reporter,  lacon- 
ically.    "  But  what  was  it  ?" 

"  This  gentleman  found  it.  Mr.  Blakely,  let  me  introduce 
to  you  Mr.  Gale,  of  the  World.  Mr.  Gale  is  an  old  friend  of 
mine,  and  we  hope  to  have  him  in  jail  yet." 


THE    FOUNDLING  235 

"  Pleased  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Blakely,"  said  the  reporter.  "  I 
know  your  name  well  enough — Marshal  Blakely,  is  it  not  ?" 

Blakely  bowed.     The  reporter  turned  to  the  lieutenant. 

"Having  quite  a  lively  time  to-night,  aren't  you  ?"  he  asked, 
playfully,  "  what  with  murders  and  babies — '  births,  deaths, 
marriages,  and  all  uncharitableness,'  fifty  cents  a  line  for  each 
insertion.  Let  us  have  the  baby  story  " — and  he  took  out  his 
note-book  and  pencil — "  and  make  it  short,  for  I  can  only  run 
in  a  stickful  or  so  now.     AVhy  don't  babies  come  earlier  ?" 

Blakely  was  anxious  to  get  away  to  avoid  further  question- 
ing, but  he  felt  that  something  was  necessary  from  him.  So 
he  asked  the  reporter,  casually  : 

"  Has  there  been  a  murder  to-night?" 

"  We  don't  know,"  Gale  replied ;  "  but  it  looks  like  it — an 
old  woman  on  Fourth  Street  called  Masson." 

"  Called  what  .*"  cried  Blakely,  in  a  tone  which  made  both 
the  others  stare  at  him. 

"Masson  —  Mrs.  AVilliam  Masson,  a  widow,  317  South 
Fourth  Street.     Do  you  know  her?" 

"  Yes — or,  rather,  no,"  stammered  Blakely.  "  I  know  one 
of  her  daughters  slightly." 

"  Which  one?"  asked  Gale. 

"The  younger — Annie." 

"  She's  away  in  the  country  now  somewhere  —  down  in 
Indiana  ;  expected  back  to-morrow,  isn't  she  ?" 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  Pretty  tough  home-coming  for  a  girl,"  suggested  the  re- 
porter. "But  she's  only  a  step -daughter.  Did  you  ever 
meet  the  mother  at  all  ?" 

Blakely  saw  that  the  reporter  was  making  a  note  in  his  book. 

"  No,"  he  said ;  "  please  don't  quote  me.  I  never  spoke  to 
the  mother  in  my  life  ;  I  never  spoke  to  the  other  daughter, 
and  only  know  the  girl  Annie  very  slightly." 

"  The  trouble  is,"  mused  the  reporter,  "  that  we  need  some 
more  stuff  about  it  badly.  Two  other  fellows  have  been 
working  on  it,  but  it  only  came  in  late.  It's  pretty  hard  to  find 
any  one  who  knows  the  Massons.  This  Captain  Harrington, 
of  the  street-railway  company,  is  engaged  to  one  girl,  and  he 
cannot  be  got  at.     A  printer  called  Weatherfield  is  engaged 


236  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

to  the  other,  and  he  lives  five  miles  out  in  the  country. 
Wollmer,  the  labor  man,  boards  in  the  house,  and  he  is  the 
only  one  who  has  given  us  anything.  He'll  talk  all  night. 
He  thinks  Harrington  did  it.  Do  you  take  any  stock  in 
that  ?"  he  asked,  addressing  the  h'eutenant. 

"  Not  knowing,  can't  say,"  said  that  cautious  gentleman. 

"  Anyway,  AYollmer  would  fix  it  on  Harrington  if  he  could, 
naturally,  because  of  the  labor  matters,"  said  the  reporter. 
Then,  turning  to  Blakely  again  :  "  I  wish  you  would  tell  me 
whatever  you  know." 

"  I  don't  know  a  thing,  and  I  really  must  protest  against 
my  name  being  mentioned.  I  shall  have  to  appear  in  con- 
nection with  the  baby.  That  is  enough  for  one  day.  I  ap- 
peal to  you,  lieutenant ;  don't  you  think  I  am  right  ?" 

"  I  guess  you  had  better  let  Mr.  Blakely  go,  Gale,"  said 
the  lieutenant,  slowly.  "  You  can  see  him  to-morrow  if  you 
want  to.  As  he  says,  he  has  given  you  one  story  to-night. 
Let  it  go  at  that." 

The  reporter  hesitated  a  minute. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  if  you  will  promise  not  to  talk  to 
any  other  paper,  but  will  give  me  to-morrow  whatever  you 
have  to  say,  and  if  the  lieutenant  here  will  promise  not  to 
mention  your  name  in  connection  with  it  to  any  of  the  other 
boys,  why,  I  will  leave  you  out  altogether." 

"  I  promise,"  said  Blakely,  and  the  lieutenant  nodded. 

"  And  now  I'm  going,"  Blakely  continued.  "  It's  time  to 
be  in  bed.  He,"  nodding  towards  the  lieutenant,  "can  tell 
you  all  about  what  you  call  the  '  baby  story.' " 

"  I  guess  so,"  said  the  lieutenant. 

So  Blakely  said  "  good-night,"  and  left.  As  the  door  closed 
behind  him,  the  reporter  remarked,  quietly : 

"  Seemed  awfully  anxious  not  to  have  his  name  appear, 
didn't  he  ?" 

"  Young  fellows  usually  are,"  replied  the  lieutenant,  "  when 
they  know  one  daughter  of  a  family,  and  have  never  spoken 
to  the  mother  or  other  daughter." 

Blakely  was  glad  when  at  last  he  had  escaped  from  the 
police-station  and  was  out  in  the  street  again.  It  was  an 
unpleasant  job,  well  over.     Annie,  he  thought  to  himself,  was 


THE    FOUNDLING  237 

now  some  three-quarters  of  an  hour  out  of  town,  on  her  way 
to  Jackson.  There  was  little  danger  to  be  apprehended  from 
that  quarter,  and  he  wondered  again  at  the  sagacity  and  fore- 
thought which  she  had  shown  in  laying  her  plans. 

When  he  arrived  at  his  rooms  it  was  after  two,  but  he  felt 
in  no  mood  for  sleep  ;  so  he  stirred  the  fire,  lit  a  cigar,  and 
sat  down  to  think  it  over. 

His  were  not  cheerful  thoughts.  He  was  chagrined  at  the 
outcome  of  the  meeting  with  Jessie.  Then  there  was  this 
confounded  child,  and  the  murder  coming  in  to  complicate 
matters.  In  another  affair,  also,  things  had  taken  a  rather 
unpleasant  turn.  Altogether,  luck  seemed  to  be  running 
against  him.  He  had  been  in  perplexing  predicaments  and  had 
experienced  narrow  escapes  enough  before.  But  this  seemed 
to  be  a  superfluous  accumulation  of  untoward  events.  The 
more  he  looked  at  the  situation  the  less  it  contented  him.  He 
even  wondered,  in  a  vague  way,  whether  the  game  that  he 
was  playing  was  worth  the  candle,  and  was  tempted  to  make 
a  resolution  to  be  less  reckless — not  more  good,  but  only  less 
reckless — in  future.  But  he  knew  himself  too  well.  He 
had  made  resolutions  of  that  kind  before  ;  and  they  had  been 
scattered  to  the  winds  when  the  next  opportunity  offered. 
"Adventures  are  to  the  adventurous" — a  motto  which  he 
was  fond  of  repeating,  and  which  had  stuck  in  his  mind  ever 
since  he  had  run  across  it  in  reading  Disraeli's  works  when  a 
boy.  Adventure  had  its  dangers  certainly.  Everything  that 
was  worth  doing  had.  There  were  times  when  the  dangers 
seemed  to  outweigh  the  pleasure  ;  and  this  was  one  of  them. 
But  the  clouds  would  pass,  as  they  always  had  before  ;  and 
the  next  chase  would  be  just  as  irresistible  as  the  last.  The 
risk  was  never  very  clearly  visible  when  an  enterprise  offered. 
It  was  only  when  you  were  over  the  hurdle — either  well  in 
mid-air  or  safely  on  the  other  side — that  you  saw  the  width  of 
the  ditch  beyond.  If  his  horse's  hind-legs  did  get  in  once 
in  a  while,  Blakely,  so  far,  had  always  managed  to  pull  out 
somehow,  and  he  would  again. 


XIX 


A    HOME-COMING 


On  the  evening  of  the  Bartop  reception  Harrington  had 
taken  the  first  holiday  which  he  had  allowed  himself  for 
many  a  day.  The  strikers  had  not  abandoned  their  plan  of 
warfare.  There  was  no  material  relaxation  of  the  system  of 
petty  annoyances  and  minor  outrages  to  which  the  street- 
railway  company,  and  incidentally  the  public,  was  subjected. 
The  assaults  on  employes,  the  cutting  of  wires  and  injuring 
of  equipment,  the  holding  up  of  inoffensive  citizens — all  these 
things  continued.  But  at  least  the  men  had  not  yet  proceed- 
ed to  any  concerted  and  violent  action.  The  company,  more- 
over, was  acquiring  knowledge  by  experience.  For  more  than 
a  week  it  had  maintained  what  was  practically  its  full  ser- 
vice of  cars  in  operation,  and  each  day  the  new  employes 
became  more  familiar  with  their  duties,  and  they  and  the 
company  grew  to  have  more  confidence  in  each  other.  The 
company's  property  was  better  protected  at  all  points,  and 
damages,  when  they  occurred,  were  more  quickly  repaired. 

About  the  barns  and  the  power-house  especially,  where 
Harrington  was  in  command,  the  situation  seemed  to  have 
quieted  down.  The  young  electrician  had  shown  himself 
equal  to  the  charge  which  was  laid  upon  him.  His  guards 
were  as  well  drilled  as  a  military  garrison.  Their  number 
had  been  increased,  and,  by  weeding  out  from  time  to  time 
any  who  showed  sign  of  lack  of  courage  or  promptitude  of 
action  in  moments  of  emergency,  he  had  gradually  collected 
a  small  force  of  men  on  whom  he  felt  that  he  could  thor- 
oughly rely,  and  who  in  turn  had  perfect  confidence  in  him. 
The  strikers  appeared  to  have  reached  the  conclusion  that 
his  little  command  was  unsafe  to  tamper  with.     This  seem- 


A    HOME-COMING  239 

ing  quietude,  however,  he  believed  to  be  only  a  temporary 
respite.  The  strikers,  he  reasoned,  hoped  to  lull  him  into  a 
false  sense  of  security,  and  then,  thinking-  him  off  his  guard, 
would  seize  an  occasion  for  some  more  formidable  attack 
than  had  yet  been  attempted.  What  form  this  attack  would 
take  he  was  at  a  loss  to  conjecture.  So  many  things  were 
possible.  Of  this  only  he  was  convinced :  that  the  men  had 
by  no  means  given  up  the  fight,  and  that  they  would  not  for- 
ever remain  content  with  their  present  desultory  and  inef- 
fective methods.  "  Something,"  he  told  himself,  "  will  drop  " 
— and  that  before  very  long. 

Meanwhile  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  not  take 
one  evening  for  himself  —  and  Jennie.  A  certain  famous 
Eastern  orchestra,  in  the  course  of  one  of  its  Western  tours, 
was  to  give  a  concert  in  town.  Both  Jennie  and  he  loved 
music,  and  this  was  a  treat  not  to  be  missed ;  so,  on  the  even- 
ing in  question,  after  a  final  tour  of  inspection  and  assuring 
himself  that  everything  was  running  smoothly,  he  jumped  on 
a  car  that  left  the  barns  about  seven  o'clock,  and  took  his  way 
to  his  sweetheart's  house. 

They  started  for  the  opera-house  where  the  concert  was  to 
take  place  with  all  the  light  -  heartedness  of  two  children  es- 
caping from  school. 

"  I  suppose  it  will  be  midnight  before  you  get  back,"  grum- 
bled Mrs.  Masson. 

"  Oh  no,  mother,"  Jennie  answered,  gayly ;  "  the  concert 
wTill  be  over  before  eleven  o'clock." 

At  the  door  they  met  Wollmer  coming  in.  It  was  an  un- 
usual time  for  him  to  be  returning  to  the  house,  and  as  he 
passed  them  he  said  something  to  Jennie  about  papers  which 
he  had  forgotten. 

"  Confound  the  fellow!"  remarked  Harrington.  "  He  knows 
now  that  I  am  not  on  duty  to-night,  and  may  take  advantage 
of  it  to  make  trouble." 

In  their  present  mood,  however,  the  incident  could  not 
worry  them  for  long,  and  Wollmer  was  soon  forgotten  in  the 
half-loverlike,  half-childish  nonsense  which  they  talked  on  their 
way  to  the  entertainment.  The  concert  was  excellent,  and 
they  were  in  a  frame  of  mind  to  enjoy  every  note  of  it.     For 


240  MEN    BORX    EQUAL 

botli  it  was  one  of  those  ideal  evenings  which,  however  peace- 
ful, live  in  the  memory  long  after  the  most  passionate  crises 
are  forgotten. 

In  one  of  the  intervals  of  the  music  Harrington  had  told 
Jennie  that  on  leaving  the  opera-house  he  must  go  to  a 
telephone  and  assure  himself  that  all  was  right  at  the  barns. 
At  the  conclusion  he  left  her  in  the  foyer  while  he  did  so. 
When  he  returned  it  was  with  an  air  of  calamity. 

"  Jen,  girl,"  he  said,  wofully, "  I'm  afraid  I  must  go  right 
up  there.  They've  been  having  more  or  less  trouble  all  the 
evening,  and  there  is  a  big  crowd  of  strikers  collected  now. 
It  is  that  man  Wollmer's  fault,  as  I  feared  ;  and  there's  noth- 
ing for  me  to  do  but  to  leave  you  and  get  there  as  quickly 
as  I  can." 

"  That's  all  right,  dear,"  she  said,  bravely.  "  That  is  where 
you  ought  to  be,  of  course.  I  need  not  say  that  I  hate  to 
have  you  go,  but  if  you  have  been  as  happy  as  I  to-night  it 
ought  to  last  us  for  quite  a  while." 

So  he  kissed  her  under  the  shadow  of  a  doorway  and  then 
saw  her  safely  to  a  car  that  would  take  her  home,  and  him- 
self boarded  another  car  that  was  bound  for  the  barns. 

As  Harrington  had  said,  there  had  been  trouble  all  the 
evening,  not  only  about  the  central  barns,  but  all  over  the  city. 
It  seemed  as  if  the  strikers  had  decided  that  the  time  had 
come  for  more  vigorous  action. 

The  car  on  which  Jennie  Masson  was  travelling  had  made, 
perhaps,  about  half  the  distance  to  her  house  when  suddenly 
the  lights  in  the  car  flickered,  jumped  up  again,  and  went  out. 
At  the  same  moment  the  car  began  to  slacken  speed  and 
stopped.  Jennie  saw  the  conductor  in  the  dim  light  leaning 
backward  over  the  railing  of  the  platform  looking  at  the 
wire  overhead,  while  he  pulled  at  the  dangling  rope,  as  if  en- 
deavoring to  replace  the  trolley.  A  minute  later  he  walked 
silently  through  the  car  to  join  the  engineer.  As  he  returned, 
one  of  the  passengers  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"  No  current,  replied  the  conductor." 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?" 

"  Well,  we  will  wait  a  few  minutes  and  see  if  it  comes  on 
again.     If  it  don't,  it  means  the  wires  are  cut,  and  you  had 


A    HOME-COMING  241 

better  get  out  and  walk.  It  will  take  an  hour  or  two  before 
they  get  it  repaired." 

For  some  minutes  the  passengers  sat  in  the  darkness,  with 
an  occasional  grumble  from  one  direction  and  desultory  wit- 
ticisms from  another,  chiefly  having  reference  to  the  location 
of  Moses  when  the  light  went  out,  or  being  in  the  nature  of 
speculations  as  to  how  long  it  would  take  to  get  there  at  that 
pace.     Finally  the  conductor  threw  open  the  door. 

"  I  guess  there  ain't  no  uset  in  waitin',"  he  said. 

And  one  by  one  the  passengers  arose  and  stepped  off  into 
the  darkness. 

Jennie  did  not  fear  the  walk,  black  and  gusty  though  the 
night  was,  but  rather  enjoyed  it.  Arriving  home  with  her 
cheeks  in  a  glow  and  panting  from  the  struggle  with  the 
wind,  she  was  astonished  to  find  the  front  door  wide  open. 
The  light  in  the  hall  was  turned  low,  and  flickered  in  the 
wind  which  whistled  in  from  the  street.  The  door  of  the 
front  room  was  shut,  and  Jennie  passed  on,  wondering  at  the 
silence  and  the  deserted  aspect  of  the  house,  to  the  dining- 
room.  Here  also  the  light  was  turned  down,  but  as  she  en- 
tered she  saw  that  in  the  front  room  the  gas  blazed  bright- 
ly. She  passed  through  the  open  folding-doors  between  the 
apartments,  and  then  her  heart  stood  still. 

Stretched  at  full  length  on  the  floor  before  her  lay  her 
mother,  her  feet  towards  her,  and  her  head  almost  in  the  fire- 
place. For  a  minute  it  seemed  to  Jennie  that  she  herself  was 
paralyzed.  She  opened  her  mouth  as  if  to  scream,  but  no 
sound  came.  She  tried  to  lift  her  arm,  and  it  would  not  obey 
her.  She  endeavored  to  walk,  and  her  legs  trembled.  How 
still  the  body  was  ! 

Slowly  the  blood  and  the  power  seemed  to  come  back  to 
the  girl's  limbs,  and  she  stepped  forward,  walking  on  tiptoe 
round  the  thing  as  it  lay.  She  passed  by  the  feet  and  up  to 
the  woman's  farther  side.  Then  the  face  came  into  view, 
upturned  to  the  full  glare  of  the  light  and  ghastly  white.  From 
under  the  head  the  blood  had  oozed  and  trickled  over  the 
tiles  of  the  fireplace,  where  it  lay  in  filmed  and  stagnant  pools. 

Jennie's  first  impulse  was  to  scream.  It  seemed  as  if  her 
whole  being  screamed — as  if  every  nerve  and  every  drop  of 

16 


242  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

the  blood  that  had  been  frozen  in  her  body  found  relief  and 
united  in  the  scream.  As  she  stood  with  her  hands  pressed 
against  her  cheeks,  which  were  almost  as  white  as  those  of  the 
face  upon  the  floor,  shriek  after  shriek  rang  through  the  de- 
serted house  and  passed  out  to  mingle  with  the  sob  of  the 
wind  in  the  street.  As  suddenly  as  she  had  begun  to  scream 
she  ceased,  and,  dropping  on  her  knees  beside  the  body,  burst 
into  tears. 

Recovering  herself,  she  at  last  ventured  to  touch  the  face  of 
the  woman  before  her.  It  was  warm.  Jennie  tore  open  the 
waist  of  her  mother's  dress,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  the  heart. 
She  fancied  that  it  beat.  For  a  moment  she  looked  wildly 
round  the  room,  as  if  with  some  idea  of  lifting  the  body  to  a 
chair  or  the  sofa.  Then,  rising,  she  ran  out  into  the  hall, 
flung  open  the  front  door,  which  she  had  closed  on  entering, 
and  screamed  again  out  into  the  night.  The  letters  of  the 
photographer's  sign  across  the  way  glittered  in  the  electric 
light,  and,  scarce  knowing  what  she  did,  she  screamed,  "  Mr. 
Eldred !  Mr.  Eldred  !  Help  I"  She  had  never  met  or  spoken 
to  the  photographer.  A  window  in  No.  319  was  thrown  up, 
and  a  woman's  voice  called,  "  Is  it  fire  ?"  A  front  door  across 
the  way  opened,  and  a  man's  figure  stood  in  the  doorway. 
"  What's  the  matter  ?"  he  called. 

"  Help  !    Help  !    Murder  !"  she  screamed.    "  It's  murder  !" 

The  man  came  hurrying  across  the  road,  and  from  both 
directions  along  the  street  Jennie  was  vaguely  conscious  of 
people  running  in  her  direction.  Turning  into  the  house 
again,  she  went  through  the  dining-room  into  the  kitchen. 
When  the  first-comer  entered  the  sitting-room  she  was  on  her 
knees  wiping  her  mother's  face  with  a  towel  dipped  in  water 
which  stood  in  a  pitcher  on  the  floor  by  her  side. 

"  Oh,  get  a  doctor !  get  a  doctor !"  she  said,  without  look- 
ing over  her  shoulder ;  "  she  is  not  dead." 

Men  were  now  crowding  into  the  house,  and  the  hall  was 
filled  with  the  shuflling  of  feet  and  whispered  inquiries  from 
those  behind.  A  heavy  hand  was  laid  upon  her  shoulder  as 
she  kneeled,  and  a  voice  asked : 

"What  is  it?" 

Looking  up,  she  saw  a  policeman. 


A    HOME-COMING  243 

"Oh,  it's  my  mother!     She  has  been  killed I" 

« who  by  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  !  I  don't  know  !"  But  she  set  herself  to  bath- 
ing the  white  face  again,  and  chafing  the  thin,  wrinkled  hands. 

The  policeman  turned  to  the  crowd. 

"  Come,  you  must  get  out  of  here  I"  he  said,  and,  pushing 
with  his  baton,  he  thrust  the  reluctant  spectators  back  into 
the  hall. 

"  Has  anybody  gone  for  a  doctor  ?"  Jennie  said,  wildly. 

"  Yes,"  a  voice  answered,  "  minutes  ago." 

The  policeman  stooped  over  the  body  and  laid  his  hand  on 
the  heart. 

"How  did  it  happen ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know.     I  only  just  came  in  and  found  her  here." 

"  Anybody  else  in  the  house  ?" 

"  No.  I  left  her  alone  when  I  went  out,  and  the  front  door 
was  open  when  I  came  back." 

"  Who  do  you  suppose  can  have  done  it  ?" 

"  Nobody  !     Oh,  I  don't  know  !" 

Presently  another  policeman  arrived.  The  two  held  a  short 
consultation,  in  which  Jennie  caught  something  about  tele- 
phoning. The  later  arrival  went  out  again,  and  she  heard 
him  talking  to  the  men  in  the  hall  as  he  pushed  them  out  of 
the  house.  The  other  policeman  followed  him,  and  Jennie 
was  alone  with  her  mother;  but  she  heard  the  murmur  of 
voices  without,  and  knew  that  one  of  the  officers  was  keeping- 
guard  at  the  street  door. 

Soon  the  doctor  came — a  bustling  little  man,  who  set  to  work 
in  a  business-like  way  to  feel  Mrs.  Masson's  pulse.  He  lifted 
the  eyelids  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  breast.  Then,  raising 
her  head  slightly,  he  began  to  feel  among  the  blood-clotted 
hair  with  his  fingers. 

"  Is  she  killed  ?"  asked  Jennie. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said. 

"  What  did  it  ?"  asked  one  of  the  policemen  who  had  re- 
entered the  room  ;  "  a  blow  V 

"  Can't  tell,"  said  the  doctor.  "  May  have  been  a  blow  or  a 
fall.  It  is  over  the  left  ear  here  ;  cut  the  temporal  artery. 
That  is  where  the  blood  comes  from." 


244  MEN    BOEN    EQUAL 

As  he  spoke,  the  doctor  had  been  looking  up  and  down  the 
fireplace.  Then  he  leaned  over  and  touched  a  sharp  angle 
about  eighteen  inches  from  the  ground,  where  the  marble  was 
bevelled. 

"  May  have  been  that,"  he  said,  and,  wiping  the  marble 
with  his  thumb,  looked  to  see  if  any  blood  came  off.  Bat 
there  was  nothing. 

"  Be  able  to  tell  later  on,"  he  said.  "  We  must  get  her  on 
a  bed.     Have  you  a  cot  in  the  house  ?"  turning  to  Jennie. 

"  Yes ;  up-stairs." 

"  Better  bring  it  down  here.  Bedrooms  are  all  up-stairs, 
I  suppose.     No  use  in  carrying  her  up." 

Jennie  left  the  room  to  fetch  the  cot.  One  of  the  police- 
men met  her  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  on  her  return,  and  helped 
to  carry  the  bedding  into  the  room,  where  Jennie  found  two 
other  men  in  addition  to  the  doctor  and  the  policemen.  One 
of  the  two  she  saw  by  his  uniform  was  a  superior  officer  of 
the  police -force.  It  was,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  Chief  AVinley 
himself.  The  other,  she  soon  gathered,  was  a  detective. 
These  two  looked  at  her  keenly  as  she  entered,  and  contin- 
ued the  examination  of  the  apartment  in  which  they  had  been 
engaged.  They  walked  round  the  walls,  examining  the  paper 
and  the  wainscoting,  to  see  if  there  were  any  marks  of  blood. 
They  scrutinized  the  floor ;  passed  into  the  adjoining  room, 
and  subjected  that  to  the  same  careful  investigation.  The  de- 
tective leaned  over  the  woman  on  the  floor,  and  looked  at  her 
hands,  her  dress,  her  shoes.  Nowhere  was  there  any  sign  or 
clew  ;  no  evidence  of  a  struggle,  nor  any  indication  as  to  who, 
if  any  one,  had  been  with  Mrs.  Masson  at  the  time  of  the  ca- 
tastrophe. 

Meanwhile  the  others  had  moved  chairs  aside,  and  set  up 
the  cot  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  The  doctor  and  two  po- 
licemen lifted  the  stricken  woman  carefully  and  laid  her  upon 
it.  The  doctor  asked  for  a  basin  of  water,  a  sponge,  and 
a  towel,  which  Jennie  brought.  As  she  returned,  Winley 
stepped  up  to  the  doctor  and  asked  him  if  he  needed  Jennie 
for  a  few  minutes. 

"  I  guess  not,"  replied  the  other.  Then  to  Jennie :  "Have 
you  any  other  woman  in  the  house  ?" 


A    HOME-COMING  245 

"  No ;  my  sister  will  return  from  the  country  to-morrow." 
And  her  voice  broke,  and  tears  burst  forth  anew  as  she 
thought  of  the  shock  that  it  would  be  to  Annie. 

"  We  want  some  one  here  to  -  night.  Miss  Parley,  who 
helps  me  in  my  office,  lives  close  by  here,  and  she  might  be 
able  to  come.  Could  any  of  your  men  go  and  fetch  her?" 
he  asked  of  the  chief. 

The  latter  nodded  to  one  of  the  officers. 

"You  go,  Williams,"  he  said. 

The  doctor  took  a  tablet  of  prescription-blanks  and  a  pen- 
cil from  his  pocket,  and  wrote  his  messages,  which  he  folded 
up,  addressed,  and  handed  to  the  man  named  Williams. 

"That  is  for  Miss  Parley,"  he  said,  as  the  officer  took  one 
of  the  notes.  "  There  is  the  address — 327  Fifth  Street — just 
round  the  corner.  She  will  probably  be  in  bed ;  please  wait 
for  an  answer  and  find  out  if  she  can  come.  Then  I  wish 
you  would  take  that  to  the  nearest  drug-store  and  have  them 
send  me  the  things  I  ask  for  here  right  away  —  some  anti- 
septic gauze,  absorbent  cotton,  and  roller  bandages.  Then  I 
wish  you  would  telephone  yourself,  or  have  them  telephone 
(better  do  it  yourself),  to  Dr.  Garcelon,  who  lives  on  Eighth 
Street,  and  say  that  Dr.  Butler  wants  him  to  come  round  at 
once  for  a  consultation  in  emergency.  A  physician  prefers 
to  share  the  responsibility  in  a  case  of  this  sort,"  he  ex- 
plained to  Miss  Masson,  who  stood  silently  listening.  "  Two 
heads,  you  know." 

Williams  departed,  and  the  chief  of  police  addressed 
Jennie : 

"  May  we  ask  you  to  step  into  the  other  room  a  minute  ?" 

Jennie  led  the  way  into  the  dining-room,  followed  by  the 
detective  and  Chief  Winley.  They  seated  themselves  about 
the  table,  and  the  detective  began  his  examination.  In  reply 
to  his  inquiries  Jennie  told  of  her  departure  for  the  theatre 
with  Harrington — yes,  "  Captain  "  Harrington,  of  the  street- 
railway  company,  she  explained.  She  recollected  the  meet- 
ing with  Wollmer  at  the  door,  and  told  of  that. 

"  What  terms  was  your  step-mother  on  with  Wollmer  ?" 
asked  the  detective. 

Jennie  said  that  they  were  very  friendly,  dwelling  on  Mrs. 


246  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

Masson's  sympathy  with  the  strikers,  and  mentioning  inci- 
dentally her  curious  ideas  as  to  the  benefit  which  she  was 
to  derive  from  General  Harter's  election,  and  her  disapproval 
of  her  daughter's  fiance,  Harrington.  No  ;  her  mother  never 
had  any  sum  of  money  in  the  house,  nor  were  there  any 
valuables  in  the  place  worth  stealing.  Resuming  the  thread 
of  her  narrative,  she  told  of  her  parting  from  Harrington. 
Could  she  give  the  exact  time  of  that  ?  asked  the  detective. 
Yes,  it  was  just  twenty  minutes  to  eleven.  Had  she  come 
straight  home  ?  As  straight  as  she  could  ;  and  she  described 
the  interruption  of  the  trip  by  the  cutting  of  the  wires  and 
her  walk  home.  In  all,  she  presumed,  it  had  taken  her  half 
an  hour — perhaps  forty  minutes — to  reach  the  house  from 
the  time  she  left  the  opera-house. 

"  It  would  have  been  possible,  then,  for  any  one  leaving  the 
opera-house  at  the  same  time  as  you  to  have  come  straight 
here,  say,  in  a  carriage,  and  have  had  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes 
to  spare  before  you  arrived  ?" 

Jennie  understood  the  object  of  their  questions,  but  she 
replied  calmly  that  it  would  have  been  —  provided  that  the 
person  could  have  foreseen  the  delay  to  herself.  She  an- 
swered many  inquiries  as  to  Wollmer  and  Harrington,  Tom 
Weatherfield  and  her  sister  Annie.  She  could  think  of  no 
reason  which  any  one  could  have  for  wishing  to  kill  her 
mother.  Mrs.  Masson  had  not  been  a  woman  who  made 
friends*,  but  there  was  nobody  who  had  sufficient  ground  for 
hatred  of  her  or  interest  enough  in  her  death  to  wish  her 
out  of  the  way. 

"  You  said  that  you  thought  that  it  must  have  occurred," 
said  the  detective,  addressing  the  doctor,  on  their  return  to 
the  front  room,  "not  later  than  ten  o'clock.  Can  you  be  sure 
of  that?" 

"  We  can  be  sure  of  nothing,"  replied  Dr.  Butler ;  "  all 
indications  go  to  show  that  she  had  been  injured  at  least  one 
hour  and  a  half  or  two  hours  before  I  arrived." 

"  Could  it  possibly  have  been  done  at,  say,  eleven  o'clock 
— within  one  hour  of  your  arrival  ?" 

"  Anything  is  possible.  My  opinion  is,  however,  that  it 
must  have  been  done  at  least  one  hour  earlier." 


A    HOME-COMING  247 

Jennie  was  informed  that  a  reporter  from  the  World  was 
in  the  hall  and  wished  to  see  her. 

"  Cannot  some  one  else  see  him  ?"  she  asked,  looking  round 
the  company. 

"  I  will  go,"  volunteered  the  chief  of  police,  and  he  left 
the  room. 

Miss  Parley  arrived — a  spare,  prim-faced  woman  of  perhaps 
thirty  years  of  age — and,  with  just  a  nod  to  Jennie,  set  to 
work  in  a  business-like  way  to  remove  her  wrap  and  gloves 
and  hat,  and,  depositing  in  a  corner  of  the  room  a  small  valise 
which  she  carried,  placed  herself  at  the  doctor's  disposal,  and 
was  soon  busy  holding  bottles  and  towels,  handing  him  bits 
of  cotton,  and  tossing  blood-stained  locks  of  hair,  which  he 
severed  with  his  scissors,  into  the  grate. 

"  May  I  go  up-stairs,  over  the  rest  of  the  house  ?"  asked  the 
detective. 

"  Certainly,"  Jennie  answered.  "  You  will  find  it  untidy, 
probably.  On  the  next  floor  are  Mr.  Wollmer's  room  and  my 
mother's.  The  third  room  is  vacant.  My  room  and  my  sis- 
ter's are  on  the  floor  above.  Her  door  is  locked.  You  will 
find  the  key  on  the  mirror  on  my  dressing-table." 

The  detective  went  out,  and  she  heard  him  ascending  the 
stairs.  A  few  minutes  later  Dr.  Garcelon  arrived — a  large, 
forceful  man,  with  a  red  face  and  a  bristling  mustache,  whom 
Jennie  already  knew  by  sight.  The  two  medical  men  ex- 
changed brief  greetings,  and  the  new-comer  leaned  over  the 
cot,  while  Dr.  Butler  showed  him  the  wound  on  the  woman's 
head,  and  the  two  carried  on  a  desultory  colloquy  in  under- 
tones. 

"  I  think  it  is  safer  to  wait  a  while — say  until  noon  to-mor- 
row," said  Dr.  Garcelon,  straightening  himself  up. 

"  That  is  what  I  think,"  rejoined  Dr.  Butler. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  Jennie  asked,  anxiously. 

"  There  is  a  fracture  of  the  skull,"  Dr.  Butler  explained, 
"  though  the  outer  fracture  is  not  very  serious.  The  blood 
has  come  from  the  severing  of  the  temporal  artery.  The  in- 
ner table  of  the  skull,  however,  appears  to  be  broken  also — 
what  we  call  a  depressed  fracture — and  a  portion  of  the  bone 
seems  to  be  pressing  upon  the  brain.     That  is  probably  what 


248  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

is  the  matter.  It  is  that  which  produces  the  state  of  coma  in 
which  she  is  now  lying.  Dr.  Garcelon  here  and  I  have  been 
considering  the  advisability  of  what  is  known  as  trephining. 
But  it  does  not  seem  to  either  of  us  that  the  patient's  condi- 
tion at  present  warrants  it." 

"  You  mean  that  she  could  not  stand  it  ?" 

"We  mean  that  it  is  always  a  dangerous  and  critical  opera- 
tion. The  patient  has  lost  a  great  deal  of  blood,  and  she  is 
old,  and  not  very  strong,  I  should  say,  naturally.  It  may  be 
that  she  will  come  out  of  the  coma  without  our  intervention 
in  the  next  twelve  or  fifteen  hours.  If  she  does  not,  it  will 
be  necessary  for  us  to  consider  the  advisability  of  an  opera- 
tion again." 

"At  present  we  can  do  nothing?" 

"Nothing  but  watch  her.    Have  you  any  ice  in  the  house  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Crack  a  little,  then,  and  do  it  up  in  a  bag,  and  keep  it  ap- 
plied to  the  base  of  the  brain — there.  I  will  leave  you  now, 
and  on  my  way  home  I  will  send  some  medicine  from  the 
drug-store — just  an  arterial  sedative,  which  Miss  Parley  will 
show  you  how  to  administer.  You  can  stay  here  to-night?" 
he  asked  of  that  young  lady. 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  you  and  Miss  Masson  can  relieve  each  other  as  you 
think  best.  I  will  leave  the  thermometer  with  you.  If  there 
is  any  marked  rise  in  temperature,  you  had  better  let  me 
know.     Otherwise,  go  on  as  you  have  heard  me  say." 

The  policemen  had  all  gone,  and  now  the  physician  and  the 
surgeon  withdrew  together,  and  the  two  women  began  their 
long  vigil  in  the  silent  house  beside  the  sick-bed. 

There  were  few  interruptions  during  the  night.  Once  Miss 
Parley  went  to  answer  a  ring  at  the  bell.  It  was  another  re- 
porter, who  was  quickly  dismissed  and  told  to  go  elsewhere 
for  his  information.  Miss  Parley  saw  that  a  policeman  stood 
on  guard  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

About  two  o'clock  Wollmer  came  in,  full  of  professions  of 
sympathy,  but  Jennie  thought  his  face  had  never  borne  a  more 
vindictive  expression,  and  she  loathed  him  even  more  than  she 
had  done  before.    Finding  that  his  offers  to  share  their  watch 


A    HOME-COMING 


249 


with  the  two  women  were  not  cordially  received,  he  retired  to 
his  room. 

Soon  after  six  o'clock  Weatherfield,  who  was  an  early  riser 
and  had  seen  the  news  in  the  morning  paper,  arrived.  When 
Jennie  went  to  the  door,  she  found  that  there  was  already 
a  small  crowd  of  idlers  collected  in  the  street  watching  the 
house.  The  printer's  distress  was  transparently  sincere  if 
awkward.  He  was  willing  to  do  anything  he  could  (if  it 
would  have  done  Jennie  any  good  to  have  him  lie  down  that 
she  might  trample  on  him,  he  would  have  submitted  gladly), 
but  very  much  at  a  loss  to  put  his  sympathy  into  words.  His 
woe-begone  air,  as  of  a  dog  that  has  been  beaten,  was  scarcely 
more  pathetic  than  ludicrous.  With  all  possible  desire  to  be 
of  use,  he  felt  that  he  was  only  in  the  way — as  if  he  were 
somehow  too  large  and  his  feet  too  clumsy  for  that  silent 
house.  Jennie  was  grateful  to  him,  but  felt  none  the  less  re- 
lieved when  he  left,  promising  to  look  in  again  before  he  went 
to  meet  Annie  at  the  station. 

At  that  moment  Annie  was  waiting  on  the  platform  at  Jack- 
son. Her  train  was  ten  minutes  late,  and  she  was  nervously 
uneasy.  At  last  it  arrived,  and  with  half  a  dozen  other  early 
passengers  she  stepped  on  board  and  made  her  way  through 
the  train  to  the  sleeping-car,  where  the  atmosphere  at  that 
time  in  the  morning  was  foul  and  stifling.  She  explained 
to  the  porter  that  she  wished  to  pay  for  a  berth  from  there 
to  her  destination,  and,  after  retiring  to  the  ladies'  dressing- 
room  for  a  while,  settled  down  in  a  vacant  section  which  had 
not  been  occupied  on  the  preceding  night. 

Soon  the  other  passengers  began  to  appear  from  their  berths, 
looking  uninvitingly  untidy  and  unwashed  as  they  made  their 
respective  ways  to  the  dressing-rooms,  whence  each  returned 
much  improved  in  appearance.  Among  them  Annie  saw 
Horace  Marsh,  who  had  been  speaking  the  night  before  in 
a  distant  part  of  the  State,  and  had  boarded  the  train  in  the 
early  hours  of  the  morning.  Harrington  had  pointed  him 
out  to  her,  and  she  was  afraid  lest  Marsh  should  know  her  by 
sight ;  but  he  did  not. 

At  an  intermediate  station  a  boy  came  in  with  the  morning 
papers.     Annie  did  not  buy  one.     She  rarely  read  the  papers, 


250  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

and  it  did  not  occur  to  her  that  the  finding  of  her  baby  might 
have  already  made  its  way  into  the  news  of  the  day.  Marsh 
took  one,  however,  and  was  shocked  to  read  of  the  calamity 
in  the  Masson  household.  He  thought  of  the  distress  that 
it  would  cause  to  his  friend  Harrington,  but  little  guessed 
that  the  pale-faced  girl  who  sat  across  the  aisle  of  the  car 
and  gazed  so  wistfully  out  of  the  window  would  be  so  much 
more  deeply  interested  in  the  news  than  he.  Then  he  saw 
the  account  of  the  finding  of  the  baby — only  a  short  para- 
graph— and  the  sight  of  Blakely's  name  sent  his  thoughts 
back  into  the  melancholy  channel  which  now  they  so  rarely 
left. 

Breakfast  was  announced  by  a  wide-mouthed  colored  waiter 
with  a  white  apron,  who  called  it  "bwek-fuss,"  and  said  that 
it  was  now  ready  in  the  "  dahnin'  cyar."  Annie  was  sur- 
prised to  find  that  she  was  hungry,  and  a  cup  of  hot  coffee 
and  a  chop  made  her  feel  better.  She  delivered  the  check 
for  her  trunk,  which  had  arrived  the  evening  before,  to  the 
transfer  company's  agent  who  boarded  the  train  at  Brooklyn, 
submitted  to  the  ostentatious  dusting  of  the  car-porter,  and 
then  sat  down  to  await  the  arrival  at  the  station.  Issuing 
from  the  car,  she  found  Weatherfield  awaiting  her.  She  as- 
sumed an  air  of  as  much  gayety  as  possible,  and  prepared  to 
make  excuses  for  her  thinness  and  pallor. 

But  Weatherfield  was  too  preoccupied  with  the  tidings 
which  he  had  to  tell  her  to  give  much  thought  to  her  ap- 
pearance. He  noticed,  indeed,  that  she  was  pale,  and  won- 
dered whether  she  had  already  learned  the  news  through  the 
morning  paper.  She,  seeing  his  solemnity,  feared  lest  some- 
how he  had  heard  of  the  thing  that  haunted  her,  and  she 
could  scarcely  nerve  herself  to  greet  him. 

"  Have  you  heard  ?"  was  his  first  question.  And  her  heart 
sickened  as  she  replied. 

"No;  what?" 

"  Have  you  heard  about  your  mother  ?" 

She  shook  her  head.  Her  lips  were  dry,  and  she  could  not 
speak. 

"  She  is  very  badly  hurt." 

Did  he  mean  hurt  in  her  pride  and  her  feelings  at  the  news 


A    HOME-COMING  251 

of  her  daughter's  shame  ?  But  she  could  only  look  at  him 
blankly,  white  and  trembling. 

"  Come  here,  and  I  will  tell  you."  And  he  drew  her  gently 
aside  from  the  stream  of  passengers  that  flowed  along  the 
platform,  and,  with  many  falterings  and  hesitations,  he  told 
her  all  that  he  knew.  She  listened  in  silence,  but  gradually 
the  blood  came  back  to  her  face,  and  in  her  heart  she  knew 
that  the  tidings  which  she  heard  brought  more  relief  than 
sorrow.  At  least,  as  yet  her  secret  was  not  known,  and,  she 
could  not  help  telling  herself,  this  new  calamity  would  serve 
in  some  manner  to  distract  attention  from  herself. 

Weatherfield  was  surprised  at  the  bravery  with  which  she 
bore  the  shock,  and  in  his  simple  mind  remembered  that  the 
girls  had  not,  after  all,  much  cause  for  tenderness  towards 
their  step-mother,  nor  reason  to  feel  deeply  grieved  at  her 
loss. 

In  the  course  of  the  drive  from  the  station  he  made  one  or 
two  efforts  at  conversation  on  different  topics,  venturing  in- 
quiries as  to  how  she  had  spent  her  time  in  the  country. 
But  Annie  was  unresponsive.  As  the  carriage  turned  into 
Fourth  Street  they  could  see  from  the  distance  of  a  square 
away  that  there  was  a  large  crowd  gathered  about  the  house, 
in  spite  of  the  cold  which  had  succeeded  the  winds  of  the 
night  before.  On  the  sidewalk  immediately  in  front  of  the 
door  two  policemen  kept  a  passageway,  but  in  the  road  and 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  stood  some  two  hundred 
people,  men  and  boys  for  the  most  part,  but  with  not  a  few 
women  sprinkled  through  the  throng.  As  the  crowd  stood 
and  stared  at  the  front  of  the  house,  watching  every  arrival 
at  and  departure  from  the  door  with  morbid  interest,  so  on 
every  door-step  and  at  almost  every  window  on  both  sides  of 
the  street  stood  other  men  and  women  staring  at  the  crowd. 

The  coachman  had  difficulty  in  making  his  way  to  the 
house,  and  when  at  last  the  spectators  realized  that  the  occu- 
pants of  the  carriage  were  bound  for  the  fateful  domicile 
itself,  Annie  felt  that  every  eye  was  fixed  upon  her. 

"  That's  the  other  daughter,"  she  heard  a  voice  say,  and 
the  news  was  passed  back  from  mouth  to  mouth. 

In  the  hall  Jennie  and  Harrington  were  waiting.     As  the 


252  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

two  sisters  met  they  reached  out  their  hands  to  each  other, 
and  fell  sobbing  on  each  other's  shoulder.  The  two  men 
stood  awkwardly  by,  exchanging  now  and  then  a  word  in 
undertones.  At  last  Harrington  laid  his  hand  on  Jennie's 
shoulder. 

"  I  don't  believe  that  we  can  be  of  any  use,"  he  said. 
"  You  know  that  Tom  and  I  will  do  anything  in  the  world 
we  can.  We  will  stay  all  day  if  you  wish,  but  at  present  I 
think  we  are  only  in  the  way." 

Jennie,  drying  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief,  tried  to 
smile  at  him,  but  could  not  speak. 

"  Is  there  anything  we  can  do  ?"  asked  Harrington  again. 

"  Nothing  at  all,  dear  ;  thanks.  You  are  awfully  sweet !" 
And  Harrington  kissed  her  for  thanks. 

"  How  is  she  ?"  asked  Annie,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  She  is  alive,"  her  sister  said.  "  The  doctors  are  in  there 
now  " — pointing  to  the  closed  door.  "  We  will  go  in  this 
way,  by  the  dining-room." 

The  two  men  left  without  another  word,  and  the  girls 
passed  arm  in  arm  into  the  sick-room. 

All  through  the  long  night  and  the  morning  the  stricken 
woman  had  lain  in  the  darkened  room  without  movement  or 
sign  of  returning  consciousness.  The  doctors,  now  in  con- 
sultation, decided  that  it  would  be  unsafe  to  wait  much 
longer.  They  agreed  to  return  at  four  o'clock  that  afternoon, 
prepared  to  operate  if  no  change  had  taken  place,  and  if  the 
patient's  general  condition,  as  indicated  by  her  pulse,  seemed 
to  justify  it. 

At  four  o'clock  no  change  had  come,  so  Dr.  Garcelon 
began  the  operation  with  Dr.  Butler's  assistance.  For  nearly 
an  hour  they  worked  in  silence,  while  the  two  girls  stood  by 
with  hands  clinched  and  nerves  tense  awaiting  the  result. 
They  were  aware  of  another  figure  entering  the  room,  and, 
turning,  saw  Wollmer  standing  in  the  folding-doors  between 
the  apartments. 

A  minute  later  there  was  a  movement  on  the  cot.  The 
patient's  feet  stirred.  The  doctors  straightened  themselves 
up  and  waited  in  silence.     The  patient's  eyes  were  open,  and 


A    HOME-COMING  253 

they  roamed  aimlessly  around  the  room.  She  tried  to  raise 
herself  in  bed,  but  Dr.  Garcelon  held  her  gently  down.  Lift- 
ing her  head  slightly  from  the  pillow,  she  looked  blankly  from 
one  to  another,  and  clutched  at  the  sides  of  the  cot  with  her 
thin  fingers.  She  made  an  effort  to  speak,  but  her  voice 
would  not  come.  Again  she  tried,  and  a  harsh,  cracked 
whisper  went  through  the  room. 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  she  asked.  "  Has  Harrington  gone  ? 
What  made  him  come  here  like  that  ?  I  will  never  give 
them  to  him.     After  all  these  years — " 

Her  voice  ceased.  For  an  instant  her  lips  moved,  and  then 
it  was  as  if  her  body  collapsed.  Dr.  Garcelon  let  her  head 
rest  on  the  pillow.  Each  of  the  doctors  took  one  of  the 
yellow  hands  and  placed  their  fingers  on  the  pulse.  Then 
one  laid  the  hand  gently  down  and  the  other  did  the  same. 

"  She  is  dead,"  said  Dr.  Butler,  solemnly. 


XX 

ON    THE    VIADUCT 

When  the  first  shock  had  passed,  and  the  girls  came  to 
talk  the  sad  scene  over,  they  had  some  difficulty  in  deciding 
upon  the  exact  words  that  the  dying  woman  had  used.  What 
did  the  reference  to  Harrington  mean?  Jennie  put  it  down 
to  delirium.  Annie,  after  questioning  her  sister,  wondered 
whether  Harrington  could  possibly  have  made  his  way  to  the 
house  by  some  short  cut  from  the  theatre,  and  done  this 
thing  before  his  sweetheart  arrived.  She  could  not  believe 
it,  and  yet — 

Wollmer  alone  had  no  doubt  as  to  what  Mrs.  Masson's 
last  sentences  were.  Five  minutes  after  she  was  dead  he  was 
on  his  way  to  police  headquarters,  where  he  found  the  chief 
of  police  closeted  with  Sullivan.  The  labor  leader  hardly 
waited  to  exchange  greetings  with  the  two  men  before  blurt- 
ing out  his  news — the  news  that  Mrs.  Masson  was  dead,  and 
that  the  last  words  that  she  had  said  were  that  Harrington 
had  murdered  her. 

The  announcement  elicited  no  enthusiasm  from  his  audi- 
tors. On  the  contrary,  in  the  silence  with  which  his  informa- 
tion was  received  Wollmer  read  incredulity  and  distrust  of 
himself.  His  temper  rose,  and  he  insisted  vehemently  on 
Harrington's  immediate  arrest.     The  chief  remained  silent. 

"  Ye  can't  do  it,"  said  Sullivan,  dogmatically.  "  It  would 
look  like  parsecutin'  him.  The  public  's  none  too  friendly  to 
us  an'  yer  dom  strikers  now." 

"  Persecuting  him !  Isn't  there  ground  for  suspicion 
enough  ?" 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  the  chief.  "  If  he  was  a  tramp  or  a 
vagabond,  yes ;  we  should  have  to  arrest  him  to  prevent  his 


ON   THE    VIADUCT  255 

leaving  town.     But  with  a  man  like  Harrington  it  is  differ- 
ent." 

"  And  suppose  lie  does  leave  town,"  Wollraer  said. 

The  chief  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  he,"  he  said.  "  If  he  is  guilty — which,  mind  you,  I 
doubt — he  has  too  good  a  chance  of  making  out  an  alibi  at 
the  trial  to  be  scared  now — enough  scared  to  proclaim  his 
guilt  by  running  away.     Guilty  or  not,  he  will  stay." 

"  There'll  have  to  be  an  inquest,"  remarked  Sullivan. 

"  And  it  will  be  time  enough,"  added  Winley,  "  to  do  the 
arresting  then  according  to  the  evidence." 

11  But  don't  you  hold  men  on  suspicion  ?"  Wollmer  pro- 
tested. 

"  Yes ;  when  I  suspect,"  said  the  chief,  dryly. 

"  And  you  mean  that  you  don't  suspect  Harrington  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  there  is  no  use  in  making  mistakes  from 
being  in  too  great  a  hurry.  He  will  be  just  as  easy  to  reach 
to-morrow  as  to-day.  As  Sullivan  says,  it  would  look  bad  if 
we  jumped  on  him  too  quickly  —  especially  on  information 
coming  from  you,  Mr.  Wollmer." 

Wollmer  bit  his  lips  and  rose  to  go. 

"  Well,  I've  done  my  duty.  I  have  put  you  on  the  man's 
trail.  If  you  decline  to  arrest  him  to-day,  and  he  escapes, 
the  responsibility  is  on  you." 

"  An'  if  the  chief  is  afraid  of  the  responsibility,  I'll  take  it 
mesilf,"  said  the  Irishman,  quietly. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock  when  Wollmer  left  the  City  Hall  and 
directed  his  steps  to  a  certain  notorious  saloon  and  restau- 
rant where  the  strikers  congregated,  and  where  Wollmer  pro- 
posed to  get  some  supper.  Here  in  the  half  a  hundred  men 
who  were  assembled  he  found  a  more  sympathetic  audience 
than  that  which  he  had  left.  He  did  not  hesitate  to  spread 
the  news,  and  on  his  lips  the  words  of  the  dying  woman  be- 
came more  and  more  sensational  and  explicit.  It  appeared 
that  she  had  said  distinctly  that  Harrington  came  there  to 
murder  her,  and  that  he  had  done  it.  "  He  knew  I  would 
never  give  in  to  him,"  she  had  said  (so  Wollmer  declared), 
and  that  referred  both  to  her  consent  to  his  marriage  with 
her  daughter,  and  also  to  the  advocacy  of  the  striker's  claims, 


25G  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

which  he  had  endeavored  to  make  her  abandon.  Nor  did 
Wollmer  spare  the  chief  of  police  and  Sullivan  for  their  re- 
fusal to  act  on  his  suggestion.  Secretly  he  hated  Sullivan — 
hated  him  for  his  strength,  and  because  he  knew  that  the 
Irishman  despised  him.  Indeed,  Sullivan  had  never  been  at 
any  pains  to  conceal  his  contempt  for  the  labor  leader.  But 
for  Sullivan,  Wollmer  asserted,  Harrington  would  even  then 
be  under  lock  and  key.  Winley  would  have  done  his  duty 
but  that  he  was  afraid  of  the  Irishman ;  and  Wollmer  let  it 
be  understood  that  he  had  something  more  than  a  suspi- 
cion of  Sullivan's  political  honesty.  He  could  tell  things, 
if  he  pleased,  about  the  Irishman's  relations  with  some  of 
the  Republican  leaders  that  would  make  interesting  matter  if 
they  were  published. 

Wollmer  had  smarted  under  the  consciousness  of  the  oth- 
er's contempt.  He  had  been  restrained  from  saying  or  do- 
ing anything  which  would  lead  to  an  open  rupture  between 
them  partly  by  an  undefined  physical  fear  of  Sullivan's  huge 
frame  and  forceful  character,  and  still  more  by  the  fact  that 
it  was  through  Sullivan  that  he  received  the  funds  from  the 
city  treasury,  so  large  a  part  of  which  went  into  his  own 
pocket.  But,  after  all,  was  it  not  on  him — Wollmer — and  the 
labor  vote  which  he  controlled  that  Sullivan  and  the  whole 
Democratic  ticket  had  to  rely  for  their  success  at  the  polls  ? 
What  right  had  the  Irishman,  then,  to  treat  him  as  he  did? 

Now,  in  his  chagrin  at  the  rebuff  which  he  had  received, 
embittered  by  the  postponement  of  the  gratification  of  his 
personal  hatred  of  Harrington,  he  grew  reckless.  All  his 
pent-up  hostility  against  Sullivan  broke  out,  and  in  the  con- 
genial atmosphere  of  the  assembled  strikers  he  let  his  spite 
have  vent. 

An  hour  and  a  half  later,  when  he  left  the  saloon  to  go  to 
the  strikers'  headquarters,  he  was  accompanied  by  nearly  all 
those  who  had  been  listening  to  him.  At  the  headquarters 
some  thirty  or  forty  of  the  ringleaders  of  the  strike  were  col- 
lected, and  here  Wollmer  told  his  tale  again,  and  it  increased 
in  circumstantiality  of  detail  and  in  bitterness  at  each  repeat- 
ing.    In  his  hands  the  figure  of  Mrs.  Masson  grew  to  an  he- 


OX   THE    VIADUCT  257 

roic  stature.  She  was  a  Joan  of  Arc,  a  fair  champion  of  their 
own  cause,  and  had  given  her  life  for  their  sake.  Harrington 
was  a  cowardly  assassin,  who,  playing  upon  a  girl's  confiding 
heart,  had  stolen  into  the  house,  and  by  her  own  hearth-side 
had  stricken  down  the  friend  of  labor  simply  because  she 
had  refused,  even  to  the  death,  to  abjure  their  cause.  By 
the  mercy  of  Providence  it  had  been  granted  that  she  should 
come  back  for  one  minute  from  the  very  shadow  itself  to 
confound  her  slayer,  who  might  otherwise  have  escaped. 
Even  now,  by  the  treachery  of  Sullivan,  it  seemed  that  the 
murderer  was  to  be  suffered  to  escape,  though  her  voice  had 
issued,  as  it  were,  from  the  very  portals  of  death  to  accuse 
him. 

Wollmer  more  than  hinted  that  he  had  private  information 
of  plans  which  Harrington  had  laid  for  leaving  the  city  that 
evening.  There  was  none  among  the  strikers  assembled  who 
had  ever  seen  Mrs.  Masson,  and  the  glorified  picture  of  the 
dead  woman  which  "Wollmer  drew  was  accepted  without  ques- 
tion. The  material  which  the  labor  leader  had  to  work  with 
was  excellent,  and  he  used  it  cunningly — the  two  girls,  one 
blinded  and  betrayed  by  this  man  whom  they  all  hated ;  the 
other  plighted  to  a  sturdy  workman  like  themselves,  but 
smuggled  off  into  the  country  lest  she  should  interfere  with 
the  murderer's  well-laid  plans.  The  very  evening  before  this 
poor  girl's  return  the  villain  takes  her  sister  out,  and,  under  a 
flimsy  pretence  of  duty  calling  him,  leaves  her  and  hurries  to 
her  home,  where  she  arrives  only  to  find  that  he  has  done  his 
work.  The  next  day  the  other  sister  returns,  and  now  there 
is  only  the  blasted  hearth,  with  the  two  orphans  weeping  in 
each  other's  arms  and  the  dead  crying  aloud  for  vengeance 
— the  dead  who  died  in  their  own  cause. 

The  men  in  the  mass  were  accustomed  to  follow  Wollmer's 
leadership.  There  wTere  his  own  personal  satellites  among 
them,  moreover,  who  took  up  his  theme,  and  chanted  it  with 
repetitions  and  exaggeration.  Fiery  speeches  were  made  and 
demands  for  the  death  of  the  murderer.  From  the  head- 
quarters the  news  spread  over  the  city,  travelling  from  one 
saloon  to  another,  from  the  crowd  at  one  street  corner  to  the 
loafers  on  the  next,  until  all  the  strikers  in  the  town  knew 


258  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

that  Harrington  had  killed  Mrs.  Masson,  and  had  killed  her 
because  she  had  refused  to  renounce  her  sympathy  with  the 
strike  ;  that  she  had  told  how  the  deed  was  committed  with 
her  last  breath  of  life ;  and  that,  owing  to  a  conspiracy  be- 
tween Sullivan  and  the  friends  of  the  street-railway  company, 
he  was  to  be  suffered  to  escape  from  the  city  that  night. 

Meanwhile  Harrington  himself  was  busy,  and  did  not  hear 
of  Mrs.  Masson's  death  till  some  hours  after  it  had  occurred. 

After  leaving  Jennie  at  the  opera-house,  his  trip,  like  hers, 
had  been  interrupted  half-way  to  the  barns  by  the  stoppage 
of  the  current.  He  had  had  farther  to  walk  than  she,  and  had 
thought  it  more  prudent  to  go  by  the  less -frequented  streets 
than  by  the  more  direct  but  more  travelled  thoroughfares. 
Some  fifteen  minutes,  moreover,  had  been  spent  at  a  telephone, 
endeavoring  to  obtain  information  as  to  where  the  trouble  had 
occurred,  but  without  much  satisfaction,  so  that  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  an  hour  had  elapsed  before  he  finally  reached 
his  destination.  Here  a  large  crowd  was  collected,  through 
which  he  had  succeeded,  under  cover  of  the  friendly  dark- 
ness, in  shouldering  his  way  without  his  identity  being  dis- 
covered. 

It  had  been  a  stormy  and  eventful  evening,  as  he  had  been 
informed.  One  of  his  men,  he  found,  had  been  captured  by 
the  mob,  and  badly  beaten  and  trampled  upon  before  he  was 
rescued,  and  he  was  now  lying  in  the  barns  on  a  cot,  uncon- 
scious. About  nine  o'clock  the  situation  had  looked  so 
threatening  that  an  urgent  summons  had  been  sent  to  the 
police  headquarters  for  additional  protection,  in  response  to 
which  Chief  Winley  had  detailed  half  a  dozen  officers,  with  a 
statement  that  that  was  all  that  could  be  spared.  The  pres- 
ence of  these  men,  though  they  made  but  a  perfunctory  show 
of  opposition  to  the  strikers,  had  served  in  some  manner  to 
keep  the  crowd  in  check.  When  Harrington  arrived,  how- 
ever, there  was  scarcely  a  pane  of  glass  in  either  building  un- 
broken, and  stones  which  were  still  being  thrown  at  intervals 
from  the  rear  ranks  of  the  mob  made  it  dangerous  for  the 
employes  within  to  show  themselves  at  any  of  the  windows. 
About  a  hundred  yards  from  the  barns  the  flames  still  rose 
fitfully  from  the  smouldering  ruins  of  a  car,  which,  having 


ON   THE    VIADUCT  259 

stopped  at  that  point  when  the  current  gave  out,  and  being 
deserted  by  the  engineer  and  conductor,  who  were  compelled 
to  fly  for  their  own  safety,  had  been  set  fire  to  and  burned. 

This  same  thing  had  been  done  in  other  parts  of  the  city. 
On  all  the  lines  affected  by  the  severance  of  the  wires  groups 
of  masked  men  had  passed  along  the  tracks — evidently  hav- 
ing been  in  hiding  until  the  moment  arrived — and  driven  the 
employes  away  from  the  standing  cars,  which  were  then  en- 
tered, and,  oil  having  been  poured  over  the  seats  and  floor,  set 
in  flames. 

It  had  not  been  until  towards  dawn  that  Harrington  had 
been  able  to  lie  down  on  a  lounge  in  the  office  at  the  barns 
and  snatch  a  few  hours'  rest,  and  it  was  well  on  in  the  fore- 
noon, having  had  no  time  on  rising  to  read  the  paper,  that  he 
had  heard  of  Mrs.  Masson's  injury.  He  had  been  at  the 
house  at  noon  when  Annie  arrived,  and  then  returned  to  his 
post  of  duty.  At  the  time  of  Mrs.  Masson's  death  he  was 
present  at  a  conference  of  officers  of  the  street-railway  com- 
pany, at  which  a  formal  protest  had  been  drafted  for  presen- 
tation to  the  mayor,  calling  upon  him  to  more  fully  protect 
the  property  of  the  citizens,  and  demanding  that,  if  the  city 
or  county  government  was  unable  to  maintain  order,  the  gov- 
ernor of  the  State  should  be  appealed  to  to  call  out  the  militia. 
A  petition  was  also  drawn  up  to  be  circulated  among  the  best 
citizens  for  signature,  in  which  it  was  set  forth  that,  the  city 
being  practically  in  a  state  of  riot,  and  the  municipal  admin- 
istration and  the  officers  of  the  county  totally  unable  to  main- 
tain the  peace,  the  signers  prayed  the  governor  to  exert  the 
powers  reposed  in  him  for  use  in  such  emergencies. 

Between  seven  and  eight  o'clock,  when  Harrington  had 
returned  to  the  barns,  he  heard  of  Mrs.  Masson's  death.  His 
informant  gave  him  no  details — only  the  news  that  she  had 
died.  As  soon  as  he  was  able  Harrington  hastened  to  the 
house,  where  he  found  the  two  girls  sitting  with  the  faithful 
Weatherfield  in  the  dining-room,  while  through  the  open 
doors  was  dimly  visible  in  the  darkness  the  outline  of  the 
white  sheet-covered  cot  whereon  the  dead  woman  lay.  For  an 
hour,  or  as  long  as  he  dared  to  remain  away  from  the  barns, 
Harrington  stayed,  and  they  talked  in  subdued  tones  of  the 


260  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

dead  woman,  of  the  inquest  which  was  to  be  held,  and  of  the 
funeral.  But  none  of  the  other  three  (for  the  girls  had  told 
Weatherfield)  had  the  heart  to  mention  to  Harrington  the 
dying  woman's  last  reference  to  himself. 

When  he  left,  Jennie  accompanied  him  to  the  street  door, 
and  they  stood  together  in  the  hall  for  many  minutes,  talk- 
ing very  tenderly,  and  each  feeling  that  they  were  closer  to- 
gether now  than  they  had  ever  been  before. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  him  and  he  descended  the  steps 
Harrington  saw  that  even  at  this  hour  of  the  night  two  fig- 
ures stood  across  the  way  gazing  at  the  now  notorious 
house.  Somewhere  farther  up  the  street  he  heard  the  voice 
of  a  newsboy  hawking  the  "  special  extra"  edition  of  an  even- 
ing paper.  Harrington  tried  to  catch  what  he  said,  but  failed, 
and  wondered  what  the  "  special  extra "  might  be  about. 
Could  he  have  distinguished  the  syllables,  what  he  would  have 
heard  was  :  "  All  about  the  Fourth  Street  murder  !  The  dy- 
ing woman  discloses  the  name  of  the  assassin  !" 

But  the  boy's  voice  grew  fainter,  and  Harrington,  ignorant 
of  the  accusation  which  hung  over  him  and  which  was  being 
thus  publicly  shouted  in  the  streets,  buttoned  his  coat  around 
him — for  the  night  was  cold — and  started  for  the  barns. 

He  had  walked  but  a  few  steps  when  he  saw  coming  round 
the  corner  and  advancing  along  the  sidewalk  to  meet  him  a 
body  of  men,  some  twenty  or  thirty  in  number.  He  knew  that 
they  must  be  strikers,  for  no  others  paraded  the  city  thus  in 
crowds  together.  What  he  did  not  know  was  that  they  had 
just  come  from  the  headquarters,  where  for  two  hours  past  they 
had  listened  to  Wollmer's  fiery  harangues  and  the  still  more 
reckless  utterances  of  his  subordinates.  They  were  coming 
full  of  wrath  and  fanaticism,  as  on  a  pilgrimage,  to  gaze  upon 
the  house  where  the  deed  had  been  done — where  their  cham- 
pion and  friend  had  been  murdered  for  their  sakes. 

For  a  moment  Harrington  meditated  crossing  the  street  to 
avoid  them,  but  it  was  too  late  to  do  this  without  attracting 
their  attention.  It  was  best  to  go  boldly  on,  and  trust  to 
passing  them  without  being  recognized. 

The  men  advanced  in  twos  and  threes,  talking  loudly  as 
they  came.    Harrington  moved  to  the  outer  edge  of  the  side- 


ON    THE    VIADUCT  261 

walk  to  give  them  space  to  pass.  Some  six  or  seven  went  by 
without  a  sign  of  recognition.  Suddenly  Harrington  heard  a 
voice  say  : 

"  That's  him,  boys  !" 

He  caught  his  name  mentioned,  and  an  instant  later  a  blow 
from  a  fist,  striking  him  on  the  ear,  sent  him  staggerino-  from 
the  sidewalk  to  the  road.  Before  he  could  recover  himself 
they  were  around  him.  He  fought  as  best  he  could,  striking 
out  right  and  left,  but  they  were  too  many,  and  he  was 
quickly  overpowered  and  was  held,  panting  and  hatless,  while 
fists  were  shaken  in  his  face  and  the  air  was  filled  with 
curses. 

"  Quiet,  boys !  Let's  take  him  across  the  bridge/'  said  a 
voice  as  of  authority. 

The  clamor  of  angry  voices  ceased,  and  the  men  with  one 
accord  fell  into  their  places  around  him,  and  he  found  him- 
self being  pushed  forward  at  a  rapid  gait  in  the  direction 
suggested. 

The  first  settlement  of  the  city  had  been  on  the  edge  of 
what  had  at  some  time  been  a  river  of  considerable  size;  It 
was  now  shrunken  to  a  narrow  and  sluggish  stream,  but  the 
rest  of  the  wide  bed  of  the  old  torrent  was  occupied  with 
railway  tracks,  which  found  here  a  broad  right  of  wray  of 
nature's  making  into  the  heart  of  the  city.  As  the  town 
grew  it  had  spread  northward  away  from  the  river-bank,  and 
what  had  once  been  the  centre  of  the  young  community 
was  now  a  squalid  and  unfashionable  part  of  the  city.  The 
locality  where  the  Massons  lived,  as  has  already  been  said, 
was  in  the  older  portion  of  the  town,  and  at  a  distance  of 
only  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  where  Harrington  was 
captured  ran  the  old  river-bed,  now  chiefly  filled  with  the 
iron  highways,  and  spanned  by  a  long  viaduct  supported  on 
iron  columns.  Many  efforts  had  been  made  by  speculators 
to  induce  the  town  to  spread  over  to  the  south  side  of  the 
river,  but  so  far  without  material  success.  The  low  land 
was  all  owned  by  the  railway  companies,  who  had  covered  it 
with  tracks  and  yards  wherein  the  freight-cars  stood  in  rows, 
with  round-houses  and  other  buildings  scattered  here  and 
there.     Beyond  the  territory  occupied  by  the  railways  were 


262  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

a  number  of  houses  of  the  meaner  sort,  some  of  the  less  poor 
of  which  were  occupied  by  railway  hands — the  majority,  how- 
ever, constituting  what  was  known  as  "  the  Diggings,"  an  un- 
inviting settlement  composed  chiefly  of  Italians  who  lived 
sordid  and  lawless  lives,  and  made  their  bread  by  the  pursuit 
of  all  those  miscellaneous  and  seemingly  precarious  avoca- 
tions to  which  the  members  of  that  nationality  chiefly  devote 
themselves  in  our  American  cities.  Beyond  the  Diggings 
again  rose  what  were  called  the  Bluffs  —  high  ground  on 
which  was  located  a  charitable  institution  or  two,  but  which 
was  chiefly  wild  and  rocky,  sparsely  clothed  with  patches  of 
scrub-oak  and  sumach,  as  the  white  men  had  first  found  it. 

If  once  his  captors  had  him  in  the  desolate  regions  across 
the  river,  Harrington  knew  that  his  case  would  be  desperate. 
The  mere  fact  that  they  set  themselves  thus  resolutely  to 
take  him  there  showed  that  they  meditated  some  more  de- 
liberate and  formidable  vengeance  than  the  hap-hazard  beat- 
ing which  they  could  easily  have  inflicted  in  the  street  where 
they  met  him.  What  form  this  vengeance  might  take  Har- 
rington did  not  care  to  think.  The  immediate  business  in 
hand  was  to  prevent,  if  possible,  their  carrying  him  across  the 
bridge.  But  meanwhile  they  made  rapid  progress  towards 
it,  and  he,  in  the  centre  of  the  solid  squad  of  men,  was  power- 
less to  resist  or  seriously  to  retard  their  march. 

He  hoped  that  they  might  meet  a  policeman ;  but  with 
every  rod  that  they  covered  the  chance  of  that  grew  less. 
At  one  crossing  Harrington  saw  a  man  passing  some  yards 
ahead  and  he  called  to  him  for  help.  But  a  fist  struck  him 
in  the  mouth,  and  the  stranger  evidently  thought  that  it  was 
not  his  duty  to  interfere  in  so  unpromising  an  affair. 

At  length  they  reached  the  bridge,  and  as  their  feet  left 
the  silence  of  the  solid  road  for  the  resonant  structure  of 
the  viaduct  Harrington's  heart  sank  in  him.  The  men,  too, 
seemed  to  think  that  the  beginning  of  the  end  had  come, 
and,  more  certain  of  their  prey,  walked  in  looser  ranks,  while 
only  one  man  retained  a  hold  on  the  prisoner's  shoulder. 
There  was  one  last  hope,  and  only  one.  For  the  first  two 
hundred  yards  of  the  viaduct  there  were  railway  tracks  be- 
neath.    Then  came  the  shrunken  river,  some  fifty  yards  in 


ON   THE   VIADUCT  263 

width,  and  then  more  tracks.  The  viaduct  was  nowhere  at 
any  great  elevation — not  more  than  thirty-five  feet  in  the 
centre ;  but  to  leap  from  it  to  the  tracks  would  he  certain 
death.  Where  the  river  ran,  with  some  two  or  three  feet  of 
water .  to  break  the  fall,  it  would  be  less  dangerous.  His 
guards  had  apparently  little  fear  now  of  any  attempt  to  es- 
cape, and  there  was,  he  told  himself,  just  a  chance  that  by  a 
rush  he  might,  when  the  water  was  reached,  succeed  in  get- 
ting to  the  side  of  the  viaduct  and  jumping  into  the  stream 
below — at  least,  it  was  worth  trying.  So,  looking  out  of  the 
corners  of  his  eyes,  he  watched  between  the  files  of  men  on 
either  side  for  a  glimpse  of  the  water  in  the  darkness.  The 
one  hand  which  still  held  him  was  on  his  left  shoulder.  He 
would  make  his  dash,  therefore,  to  the  right.  At  last  dimly 
through  the  night  he  caught  a  gleam  of  the  water  not  far 
ahead.  Forty  paces  more,  he  said,  and  the  time  would  have 
come.  And  he  counted  the  paces  stealthily.  Thirty-seven — 
thirty-eight — thirty-nine — forty  !  As  his  left  foot  struck  the 
road  at  the  fortieth  pace  he  sprang  to  the  right,  dashed  be- 
tween the  lines  of  his  captors,  and,  before  they  realized  what 
had  happened,  gained  the  side  of  the  viaduct.  Holding  to 
the  edge  of  the  parapet  with  his  hands  he  flung  his  feet  over, 
landing  on  a  narrow  ledge  on  the  outer  side. 

Even  as  he  was  in  the  air,  however,  he  saw  to  his  dismay 
that  it  was  not  water  beneath  him.  At  two  points  in  the 
width  of  the  river  the  columns  supporting  the  viaduct  rose 
out  of  the  water.  Around  the  base  of  each  was  a  pile  of 
rock,  to  which  the  water  was  constantly  making  additions  of 
stones  and  pieces  of  timber.  It  was  immediately  over  one 
of  these  columns  that  Harrington  found  himself,  and  directly 
below,  instead  of  the  friendly  river,  was  a  forbidding  surface 
of  hard  and  jagged  stone,  stretching  some  ten  or  twelve  feet 
on  either  side  of  the  base  of  the  column,  and  perhaps  twice 
as  far  down  the  stream.  He  could  not  let  himself  drop,  as 
he  had  intended,  straight  down,  but  must  leap  to  one  side 
or  the  other.  The  moment's  hesitation  made  necessary  by 
this  discovery,  when  he  was  deciding  which  way  to  jump, 
was  enough  for  the  strikers  to  collect  their  thoughts,  and 
already  they  were  around  him  again.     Even  as  he  bent  his 


264  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

knees  for  the  spring,  hands  reached  over  the  parapet  and 
clutched  him  by  the  arm  and  shoulder.  Wrenching  his 
right  side  free,  he  faced  his  enemies,  and,  using  his  right 
hand  as  a  club,  endeavored  to  break  their  hold  of  his  left 
arm.  He  struck  with  the  fury  of  despair.  As  soon  as  a 
hand  was  knocked  off,  it  found  a  new  hold ;  but  at  last  came 
a  moment  when  he  was  free.  He  snatched  his  arm  away 
and  leaned  backward,  already  too  far  gone  to  recover  his 
balance  if  he  wished  to,  still  fending  off  the  hands  that 
reached  after  him. 

At  this  moment  one  of  the  strikers  thrust  his  foot  through 
the  railing  of  the  parapet.  The  heavy  boot  struck  Harring- 
ton's ankles,  forcing  both  his  feet  off  the  narrow  ledge.  The 
spring  which  was  to  have  sent  him  clear  of  the  rocks  below 
spent  itself  helplessly  in  the  air;  and  with  one  sharp  cry 
he  dropped — dropped  straight  down. 

The  men  above  leaned  over  and  peered  into  the  darkness. 
They  heard  him  strike  heavily,  with  a  grinding  of  the  stones 
below,  and  as  if,  with  nothing  to  break  the  fall,  his  whole 
body  had  met  the  rocks  at  once.  Dimly  they  could  see  the 
black  mass  where  he  lay  close  by  the  water's  edge,  motion- 
less. For  a  minute  they  stood  and  gazed,  and  then  turned 
and  made  their  way  back  in  silence  cityward. 


XXI 

IN    THE    VALLEY    OF    SHADOW 

To  the  most  zealous  and  earnest  reformers,  it  may  be  pre- 
sumed, there  are  times  when  their  beloved  cause  seems  color- 
less and  futile.  We  know  that  to  the  holiest  of  old  there 
came  at  some  point  in  their  careers  seasons  of  sore  tempta- 
tion, when  the  powers  of  darkness  appeared,  transmogrified, 
and  by  all  cunning  wiles  that  they  could  muster  sought  to 
lure  virtue  from  its  path — on  a  high  mountain,  or  under  the 
sacred  Bodhi-tree,  or  in  the  study  at  Wittenberg.  In  these 
latter  days  the  imps  come  not  incarnate,  but  chiefly  in  sub- 
jective forms,  disguised  as  toothache  and  indigestion  and 
catarrh,  whereby  the  world  looks  jaundiced ;  or,  perhaps,  a 
loved  one  ceases  to  smile,  and  the  rose-color  dies  out  of  even 
the  cause  itself  ;  or,  bitterest  of  all,  the  reformer  finds  treason 
among  his  own  disciples  and  fellow-workers  and  those  who 
dip  in  the  dish  with  him.  Then  it  is  that  the  lean  devil  of 
desolation  and  despair  sits  by  the  heart  which  aches,  feeling 
itself  alone  in  a  world  of  fraud. 

Something  of  all  these  malign  influences  combined  to 
harass  Horace  Marsh  on  that  morning  when  he  arrived  by 
the  same  train  as  brought  Annie  Masson  home.  He  was  not 
well.  The  strain  of  constant  travelling,  irregular  hours,  poor 
food,  and  of  speaking  three  or  four  times  a  week,  was  telling 
upon  him.  The  work — any  work — was  light  and  easy  so  long 
as  it  was  done  both  for  its  own  sake  and  for  hers.  Then  all 
effort  was  doubly  inspired.  But  now  that  Jessie's  face  was 
turned  from  him — since  that  bitter  evening  and  her  failure  to 
reply  to  his  note — one,  and  he  wondered  if  it  were  not  the 
chief,  incentive  to  labor  was  withdrawn.  He  still  believed  in 
the  work  which  he  was  doing — or,  rather,  in  the  need  of  such 


266  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

work;  but  many  things,  little  things  individually,  but  mighty 
in  the  mass,  had  on  this  last  trip  come  to  him  to  make  him 
feel  terribly  alone  in  his  ministry. 

Perhaps  the  echoes  of  what  Judge  Jessel  and  Major  Bartop 
had  said  disquieted  him — as  to  the  present  campaign  not  be- 
ing one  on  party  lines,  but  only  a  conflict  of  the  good  against 
the  bad  ;  of  law  and  order  on  the  one  side  against  anarchy 
and  crime  on  the  other.  Certain  it  was  that  even  in  the 
small  towns  in  which  he  had  been  speaking  he  had  been 
struck  by  the  fact  that  it  was  not  that  portion  of  the  popu- 
lation whom  he  would  have  chosen  for  his  fellow -workers 
that  came  to  hear  him  speak  and  to  meet  him  at  the  hotels. 
The  feeling  of  which  he  had  been  so  keenly  conscious  when 
standing  in  the  lobby  of  the  Boston  House  at  Jackson,  the 
sense  of  an  essential  lack  of  sympathy  between  himself  and 
the  men  who  gathered  round  him,  came  to  him  now  again 
and  again.  He  had  grown  to  expect  it,  to  regard  it  as  nec- 
essary. His  audiences,  indeed,  listened  to  him  attentively. 
They  were  carried  away  by  the  fervor  of  his  oratory,  and 
while  he  talked  stood  with  him  on  his  level.  But  he  could 
not  but  discover  that  it  was  he,  and  not  any  force  within 
themselves,  that  uplifted  them.  They  did  not  of  their  own 
prompting  seek  the  higher  altitudes,  but,  as  soon  as  the  spell 
of  his  influence  was  removed,  dropped  back  into  a  less  rarefied 
atmosphere — an  air  thick  with  the  clammy  vapors  of  petty 
partisan  politics  and  small  local  issues.  Their  very  congratu- 
lations were  awkward,  as  when  one  totally  ignorant  of  music 
seeks  to  compliment  a  master  on  the  excellence  of  his  exe- 
cution, and  fears  lest  he  should  blunder  into  misnomers. 
Their  praise  halted,  not  from  insincerity  so  much  as  diffi- 
dence, and  they  hastened  to  take  refuge  on  the  more  familiar 
ground  of  the  local  and  the  concrete,  burrowing  into  the 
labyrinthine  darknesses  of  party  intrigue,  in  which  Marsh 
himself  was  lost.  Above  all,  they  spoke  of  labor  questions 
and  the  strike  with  an  assumption  of  his  sympathy  with 
the  strikers  which  perpetually  affronted  him.  More  than 
once  on  such  occasions  he  had  replied  sharply,  in  a  strain 
which  called  forth  surprised  rejoinders  from  his  auditors,  to 
the  effect  that  they  had  supposed  that  the  cause  of  the  strike 


IN    THE    VALLEY    OF    SHADOW  267 

■was  the  cause  of  the  party,  or  that  they  thought  that,  being 
a  Democrat,  he  was,  of  course,  an  enemy  of  corporate  capital. 

The  news  in  the  paper  that  morning  seemed  to  be  particu- 
larly distasteful.  It  was  evident  that  the  strikers  were  grow- 
ing daily  more  bitter.  In  spite  of  the  attempt  of  the  party 
organ  to  make  light  of  the  outrages  of  the  preceding  evening, 
the  list  of  acts  of  violence  perpetrated  was  a  long  and  un- 
pleasant one.  Sandwiched  in  between  other  paragraphs  re- 
lating to  the  strike  appeared  an  interview  with  General  Har- 
ter,  in  which  he  expressed  himself,  without  attempting  to 
condone  individual  crimes,  as  an  ardent  sympathizer  with  the 
men.  Then  the  sight  of  Blakely's  name,  in  connection  with 
the  baby,  for  some  reason  irritated  Horace.  Finally,  there 
was  the  news  of  the  calamity  in  the  Masson  household,  with 
its  bearing  upon  his  friend,  and  Marsh's  blood  boiled  when 
he  read  the  long  interview  with  Wollmer  on  the  subject  (the 
reporter  had  said  that  Wollmer  would  "talk  all  night"), 
filled  with  covert  innuendoes  against  Harrington.  Without 
venturing  to  accuse  him  directly,  the  labor  leader  had  laid 
great  stress  upon  the  ill-feeling  which  had  existed  between 
Mrs.  Masson  and  the  electrician,  and  had  recurred  to  the  sub- 
ject again  and  again  in  the  course  of  his  talk. 

On  arriving  at  his  office  the  first  thing  that  Marsh  did  was 
to  go  to  the  telephone  and  inquire  for  Harrington  at  the 
street-railway  company's  barns.  The  electrician,  however, 
was,  as  we  have  already  seen,  at  that  moment  at  the  Fourth 
Street  house  awaiting  Annie's  home-cominof.  Determining  to 
endeavor  to  catch  Harrington  again  later  in  the  day  to  ex- 
press his  sympathy  with  him,  Marsh  repaired  to  his  partner's 
office,  as  was  his  custom,  to  render  an  account  of  his  trip. 

The  General  received  him  with  grandiose  cordiality,  and 
Marsh  did  his  best  to  bear  himself  with  good  grace.  From 
conversation  about  Horace's  experiences  they  drifted  to  talk- 
ing of  the  political  outlook  in  general,  and  thence  to  the 
strike. 

"  I  see  an  interview  with  you  in  the  paper  this  morning," 
Horace  remarked.  "  I  don't  know  whether  you  said  all  that 
is  ascribed  to  you,  but,  if  so,  I  am  afraid  I  can't  agree  with 
you." 


268  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

"  Well,"  the  other  replied,  cautiously,  "  an  interviewer 
never  gets  things  quite  as  one  would  like  them,  you  know. 
But  you  mean  that  you  do  not  agree  with  me  in  my  general 
attitude  on  the  strike  V 

"  Yes,"  said  Horace,  decisively.  "  I  do  not  think  the  men 
are  right.     They  deserve  to  be  beaten." 

"  Well,  in  these  cases  " — and  the  General  assumed  his  sen- 
atorial air — "  one  must  look  at  general  principles  rather  than 
at  details  of  a  particular  controversy.  There  may  be  minutice 
in  which  the  action  of  the  men  has  been  open  to  criticism ; 
but  in  the  long  run,  and  on  abstract  grounds,  the  cause  of  the 
men  is  the  cause  of  the  right.  I  have  not  in  mind  so  much 
Mr.  Holt  and  the  street-railway  company,  or  of  Wollmer  and 
his  men — the  question  of  a  few  cents  an  hour  or  of  an  indi- 
vidual labor  organization  is  immaterial.  It  is  the  broad  prin- 
ciple which  we  in  public  life  must  consider.  Undoubtedly 
the  right  position  for  myself  and  for  the  party  is  one  of  ad- 
vocacy of  the  masses ;  not  only  on  grounds  of  policy,  but  on 
grounds  of  conviction,  and  for  the  sake  of  eternal  truth  and 
justice.  There  is  no  one  who  feels  that  more  deeply  than 
yourself,  Marsh." 

"  That  may  be,"  he  replied ;  "  but  the  names  of  Truth  and 
Justice,  and  of  every  eternal  principle  of  right,  can  easily  be, 
and  constantly  are,  used  to  cloak  individual  and  incidental 
wrongs.  The  cause  of  the  masses  is  not  going  to  be  ad- 
vanced by  the  advocacy  of  the  strikers'  present  claims,  if 
those  claims  are  wrong." 

"  When  we  descend  to  the  particular,"  rejoined  the  Gen- 
eral, pompously,  "  it  is  difficult,  as  in  this  present  quarrel, 
for  outsiders  like  you  and  myself  to  decide  which  party  is 
right  and  which  is  wrong.  There  are  many  influences  to  be 
considered.  A  seeming  temporary  wrong  may  be  only  one 
facet,  as  it  were,  of  a  permanent  right,  as  we  should  discover 
if  we  could  see  all  sides  of  it.  The  best  we  can  do,  it  seems 
to  me,  is  to  take  a  stand  in  line  with  our  general  convictions 
— of  course  within  certain  limits,"  he  added. 

"  And  it  seems  to  me  that  those  limits  have  pretty  nearly 
been  reached,"  remarked  Horace,  "  when  it  comes  to  cutting 
wires  and  beating  men  nearly  to  death." 


IN   THE    VALLEY    OF    SHADOW  269 

The  General  did  not  reply,  and  Horace  retired  to  his  own 
room,  where  he  was  glad  to  find  Barry  awaiting  him.  From 
him  he  might  learn  some  news  of  Miss  Holt. 

The  two  friends  shook  hands  cordially. 

"  I  guessed  you'd  be  in  about  now,"  Barry  said,  "  and  came 
round  to  ask  if  you  had  seen  about  Mrs.  Masson  in  the  paper, 
and  your  friend  Harrington." 

"  Yes,  I  have.     It's  pretty  hard  on  the  girl,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  Did  you  read  what  that  man  Wollmer  said  ?  What  do 
you  think  of  it  ?" 

"  Wollmer  is  a  cur,"  Horace  replied.  "  But  how  are  your 
affairs  going?     How's  Miss  Caley?" 

"  Oh,  she's  all  right,"  replied  Barry,  but  in  a  tone  which 
implied  that  that  lady's  condition  was  a  matter  of  entire  in- 
difference to  him. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  ?"  Horace  asked  in  surprise,  re- 
sponding to  the  manner  rather  than  the  matter  of  his  friend's 
words. 

"Well" — and  Barry  hesitated  —  "I  don't  much  like  to 
talk  about  it,  but  she  isn't  quite  the  girl  that  I  took  her  to 
be.  There's  a  fellow  called  Jones — Fred,  she  calls  him — 
whom  she  knew  at  home  in  Chicago.  I  opened  a  locket  of 
hers  last  night  and  found  his  portrait  in  it — wearing  it  round 
her  neck,  you  know.  And  she  got  mad  and  said — oh  !  she 
said  all  sorts  of  things.  It  appears  that  she  gets  letters  from 
him  every  day.     Damn  Jones  !"  he  added,  moodily. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Marsh.  He  felt  that  the  wbrds  were  in- 
adequate ;  but  it  was  not  a  situation  wherein  sympathy  was 
easy  to  offer.  And,  after  all,  it  was  difficult  to  take  Barry's 
love  affairs  quite  seriously.  "  How's  Miss  Holt  ?"  he  asked, 
after  a  pause,  to  change  the  subject. 

"  She  was  sick  last  night  up  at  the  Bartops' " — and  Barry 
spoke  spitefully,  as  if  he  took  pleasure  in  yielding  bad  news 
in  his  present  mood.     "  Blakely  took  her  home." 

"  Was  she  seriously  ill  ?" 

11  Oh,  I  don't  know  —  fainted  or  something.  Anyway, 
Blakely  hustled  her  into  his  carriage  and  took  her  home — 
did  it  as  if  he  owned  her,"  he  added,  wickedly.  iVs  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  Barry's  knowledge  of  the  method  of  Miss  Holt's 


270  MEN   BOEN    EQUAL 

departure  was  of  the  slenderest.  He  felt  that  he  was  unfair 
and  repented.  "  But  I  don't  think  it  was  anything  much. 
Blakely  came  back  again  soon  afterwards." 

On  the  whole,  Barry's  visit  did  not  contribute  apprecia- 
bly to  the  cheerfulness  of  the  day  for  Horace.  All  things 
seemed  to  conspire  to  make  him  miserable.  Chief,  perhaps, 
among  the  matters  which  gave  him  uneasiness  —  more  per- 
sistently present  even  than  the  estrangement  with  Jessie — 
was  an  undefined  dissatisfaction,  which  he  could  not  ignore, 
with  the  political  outlook.  He  was  glad  that  he  had  but  little 
more  speaking  to  do — three  more  nights  only,  and  all  three 
in  town.  The  committee  might,  of  course,  call  upon  him  to 
fill  a  vacancy  or  two ;  but  he  resolved  if  the  vacancy  was 
in  some  outside  place  to  do  his  best  to  evade  it.  The  next 
evening  he  was  to  speak  in  Columbus  Hall,  where  he  would 
probably  have  the  largest  audience  that  had  listened  to  him 
yet.  After  four  days  of  respite  he  was  to  appear  twice  more 
on  successive  evenings  in  different  parts  of  town.  Those 
were  all  his  "  dates  "  until  election. 

On  this  day  he  had  to  be  much  out  of  the  office,  in  con- 
sultation with  a  fellow-lawyer.  Returning  late  in  the  after- 
noon to  the  Metropolitan  Block,  he  met  Sullivan  just  leaving 
General  Harter. 

"  Hey  there  !"  cried  the  Irishman.  "  It's  back  again  ye 
are,  flittin'  into  the  middle  o'  these  troublous  times  like  that 
onaisy  pelican  a-ridin'  into  the  heart  o'  the  storm.  The 
plot  thickens,  me  boy,  an'  there  is  quare  times  ahead  of  us. 
An'  the  Gineral  tells  me  this  Mrs.  Masson  was  a  friend  of 
yours." 

"  Hardly  that,"  said  Marsh.  "  I  know  her  daughter  slightly. 
Harrington,  you  know,  is  one  of  my  best  friends,  and  he  is 
engaged  to  her." 

"  An'  I  gather  by  the  papers  that  there's  no  love  lost  be- 
tween Harrington  and  Mr.  Wollmer  " — the  Irishman  always 
put  a  "  Mr."  before  the  labor  leader's  name. 

"  Oh  !  that  whelp  Wollmer — "  began  Horace,  hotly  ;  but 
Sullivan  interrupted  him. 

"  Aisy,  me  lad,  aisy  !"  he  said  ;  "  that  same  Mr.  Wollmer 
is  one  o'  the  pillars  b'  the  parrty  —  an'  will  be  till  election. 


IN   THE    VALLEY    OF    SHADOW  271 

Wait  two  weeks,  me  boy,  an'  then  maybe   there  are  some 
others  that  '11  be  wid  ye." 

Horace  liked  the  Irishman.  His  code  of  political  ethics 
might  be  peculiar,  but,  at  least,  he  made  no  pretensions  to  be 
other  than  he  was.  In  the  ordinary  way  of  politics,  and  to 
advance  the  interests  of  "  the  party  "  (which  Sullivan  always 
spoke  of,  as  it  were,  with  a  capital  "  P  "),  he  would  lie  un- 
hesitatingly, bribe  without  scruple,  and  make  use,  in  fact,  of 
whatever  weapons  the  corruptness  or  gullibility  of  human 
nature  might  put  in  his  hands.  In  party  matters  he  did  not 
shrink  from  doing  "  evil  that  good  may  come."  But  in  a  per- 
sonal affair  Marsh  would  have  trusted  him  implicitly.  He 
would  never,  according  to  his  own  light,  be  dishonorably  dis- 
honest. Open-handed  he  was  and  generous  without  stint, 
and  loyal  to  his  friends.  The  mere  blunt  strength  of  his 
nature,  coarse  and  brutal  though  it  might  seem,  had  its  at- 
traction. 

It  was  of  Sullivan  that  Horace  was  chiefly  thinking  when, 
as  he  sat  disconsolate  in  his  room  that  evening,  he  said  to 
Barry : 

"  It  is  a  good  deal  easier,  after  all,  for  a  man  to  be  respected 
in  the  churches  than  it  is  to  be  respected  in  the  saloons.  I 
do  not  mean  to  say,  of  course,  that  the  best  men  are  not  in  the 
churches,  or  to  deny  that  the  crowd  around  the  saloons  is,  as 
a  whole,  the  worst  element  in  our  population.  But  to  stand 
well  with  that  element  a  man  must  possess  certain  good  qual- 
ities which  he  need  not  have  to  hold  high  place  in  a  church. 
There  is  a  certain  type  of  man — the  worst,  in  my  opinion,  that 
God  makes  —  slinking,  hypocritical,  and  cowardly,  who  can 
come  to  be  a  church-warden  and  to  have  the  handling  of  par- 
ish funds,  yet  who  could  never  get  credit  for  fifteen  cents' 
worth  at  a  bar. 

"  '  He  wa'n't  no  saint,  but  at  judgment  I'd  take  my  chance  with  Jim 
Along  o'  some  pious  gentlemen  who  wouldn't  shake  hands  with  him  !' 

There's  a  good  deal  in  that.  It  is  pretty  hard  to  put  one's 
self  outside  the  moral  environment  —  the  '  climate  of  opin- 
ion'—  of  one's  own  immediate  day  and  community;  but 
if  one  could  look  at  men  with  the  eye  of  eternal  Truth,  I 


272  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

wonder  how  far  his  judgment  would  coincide  with  the  con- 
ventions and  convictions  of  the  times.  In  other  stages  of 
society  the  recklessness  and  animal  courage — the  brutality, 
even  —  which  are  the  chief  characteristics  of  the  saloon  ele- 
ment to-day,  were  high  virtues.  They  went  a  long  way  tow- 
ards the  making  of  a  knight ;  for  I  suspect  that  the  chivalry 
and  courtesy  which  we  ascribe  to  those  gentlemen — the  man- 
ners which  were 

"'  ...  The  fruit 
Of  loyal  nature  and  of  noble  mind' 

are  chiefly  the  additions  of  the  romancers  and  scribes  of  a 
later  day.  The  average  knight  was  a  pretty  coarse  beast — 
according  to  our  ideas.  And  according  to  his  ideas,  and  the 
ideas  of  the  world  of  his  day,  the  qualities  which  make  a 
man  '  respectable '  with  us  caused  him  then  to  be  buffeted 
and  spat  upon  and  spanked  with  the  flat  of  a  sword.  There 
is  still  lurking  in  the  bottom  of  the  hearts  of  all  of  us  a  cer- 
tain sympathy  with  those  ideas.  Is  that  sympathy  only  a 
relic  of  the  brute  in  us,  not  quite  civilized  away,  or  is  it  a 
smouldering  spark  of  a  higher  than  human  nature,  a  fragment 
of  omniscience,  which  has  not  altogether  been  stifled  ?  Is  it 
better  or  worse  than  our  current  code  of  morality  ?  After  all, 
'  respectability '  is  only  a  negation — a  lack  of  certain  attri- 
butes. Are  those  attributes  inherently  evil,  or  is  it  only  that 
societv  —  a  most  ephemeral  society  —  says  that  they  are  evil 
in  its  cowardice  ?  Is  it  better — better,  I  mean,  in  the  view  of 
all  time — to  have  wine  mixed  in  one's  veins  and  chew  tobacco 
and  attend  prize-fights,  or  to  be  a  man  whose  '  blood  is  very 
snow-broth' — and  to  take  an  interest  in  Sunday-schools?" 

"  I  give  it  up,"  said  Barry.  "  But  I  think  I  rather  like  a 
thorough-going  4  tough.'  I  know  that  there  are  respectable 
members  of  society  whom  I  would  willingly  hit  with  a  brick — 
but  for  the  police." 

It  was  the  first  evening  for  a  long  time  which  Barry  had 
not  spent  in  Miss  Caley's  society,  and  cynicism  and  misan- 
thropy suited  him.  So  the  two  sat  and  croaked  at  each  other, 
in  forlorn  antiphony,  like  two  birds  of  evil  omen,  far  into  the 
night. 


IX    THE    VALLEY    OF    SHADOW  273 

Horace,  hungering  for  tidings  of  Miss  Holt,  and  not  daring 
to  go  and  seek  them  for  himself,  had  endeavored  to  persuade 
Barry  that  he  ought  to  call  on  Miss  Caley  that  evening,  but 
he  had  exhausted  his  powers  of  sophistry  in  vain.  It  rested 
with  her,  Barry  said,  to  make  the  first  advances;  for  that 
matter,  he  didn't  care  whether  they  ever  came  together  or  not. 
Which  was  palpably  disingenuous.  The  best  that  Horace 
could  do  with  his  obstinacy  was  to  wring  from  him  a  half- 
promise  that,  if  no  news  came  from  Miss  Caley  on  the  morrow 
and  there  were  no  tidings  of  Miss  Holt,  he  would  call  on  the 
following  evening — merely  as  a  matter  of  common  courtesy  to 
inquire  after  Jessie's  health,  Marsh  said.  On  that  evening 
Horace  himself  would  be  holding  forth  at  Columbus  Hall. 

During  the  conversation  Marsh  opened  his  heart  rather  un- 
reservedly. His  love  for  Miss  Holt  had  never  before  been 
openly  talked  over  between  them,  but,  as  we  have  seen  on  a 
former  occasion,  Barry  was  not  blind  to  the  situation.  Now 
he  listened  while  Marsh  told  him  of  Jessie's  behavior  on  that 
occasion  when  Barry  had  been  so  absorbed  with  Miss  Caley 
on  the  sofa  ;  and  Barry  vowed  that  he  had  seen  nothing  of  it, 
and  opined  that  his  friend  was  a  victim  of  his  own  imagina- 
tion. But  Horace  told  him  of  the  note  which  had  not  been 
answered ;  and  the  best  that  Barry  could  offer  in  the  way  of 
comfort  was  a  banal  suggestion  that  the  letter  had  miscarried. 
Horace  spoke  of  the  article  about  his  speech  at  Jackson  and 
of  his  note  to  her  father ;  but  to  all  of  that  he  attached  little 
importance.  It  was  more  likely  that  some  common  acquaint- 
ance had  poisoned  her  mind  against  him.  And  so  they  united 
in  abuse  of  Blakely.  But  whenever  Barry  spoke  of  Blakely, 
he  meant  Fred  Jones. 

18 


XXII 

THE    INQUEST 

It  was  not  until  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  following  day 
that  Marsh  heard  of  what  had  befallen  Harrington. 

For  some  hours  after  striking  the  rocks  the  latter  had  lain 
stunned  and  insensible.  The  first  sensation  which  carne  with 
returning  consciousness  was  that  of  intense  cold.  He  must,  he 
thought,  have  left  a  window  too  wide  open,  and  the  bedclothes 
had  fallen  from  him  in  his  sleep.  When  he  realized  that  he 
lay  in  the  open  air,  the  discovery  puzzled  him.  Moving  his 
right  hand,  he  felt  the  jagged  edge  of  a  large  stone,  and  then 
his  fingers  dipped  into  the  water.  The  sudden  movement,  as 
he  withdrew  his  hand  from  the  cold  contact,  sent  an  excruciat- 
ing pain  through  his  sides,  so  that  he  caught  his  breath  quick- 
ly.    And  all  at  once  memory  returned. 

He  lay  partly  on  his  left  side,  his  face  turned  eastward  tow- 
ards the  viaduct,  under  and  beyond  the  black  shadow  of  which 
the  sky  already  showed  the  greenish-gray  tinge  of  approaching 
dawn.  Behind  him  the  water  lapped  to  within  a  foot  of  his 
back.  Turning  his  head  slightly,  he  looked  straight  upward  to 
where  the  edge  of  the  viaduct  was  sharply  outlined  against  the 
sky — darker  here  than  towards  the  east — and  seeming  in  this 
dim  light  to  be  lower  and  scarcely  twenty  feet  above  him. 
How  seriously  was  he  injured  ?  he  wondered,  and  endeavored  to 
move;  but  the  pain  in  his  sides  and  back  was  acute,  and  his 
legs  refused  to  obey  him.  How  much  of  the  pain  and  numb- 
ness was  due  to  injuries  and  how  much  to  the  cold  and  the 
roughness  of  his  couch  he  could  not  guess.  And  still  the  most 
prominent  sensation  was  that  of  chill.  Another  and  more  de- 
termined effort  to  raise  himself  from  his  position  resulted  in 
such  agony  that  he  sank  back  again,  faint  and  half-swooning. 


THE    INQUEST  275 

For  some  time  he  lay  so,  dimly  conscious  of  external  things 
as  the  day  grew  and  noises  came  to  him  from  far  away  —  the 
barking  of  dogs,  the  rumble  of  an  early  market-wagon  driving 
overhead,  the  clanking  and  banging  of  railway-cars  from  where 
trains  were  being  made  up  in  the  distant  yards.  And  it  was 
very  cold.  Once  or  twice  he  tried  to  shout  in  answer  to  some 
noise  which  sounded  near,  but  his  voice  was  thin  and  weak. 
Small  details  of  his  surroundings  thrust  themselves  upon  him. 
He  noticed  that  the  paint  was  cracking  off  the  iron  column  of 
the  bridge  close  by  him,  aud  thought  that  the  city  engineering 
department  ought  to  discover  it  and  give  the  metal  a  new 
coating.  He  heard  the  ripple  of  the  water  against  the  stones, 
and  wondered  why,  when  the  flow  of  the  stream  was  even,  the 
ripple  at  times  should  be  so  much  louder  than  others — almost  as 
if  some  live  thing  moved  in  the  water.  He  had  noticed  just 
such  inequalities — eddies,  presumably — in  electric  currents. 

All  at  once  he  became  aware  of  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a 
man  protruding  over  the  parapet  above  him  and  clearly  out- 
lined against  the  sky.  It  was  a  policeman,  stopping  in  his  de- 
liberate march  across  the  viaduct  to  lean  over  and  look  at  the 
slow  water  and  the  dim  outlines  of  the  mists  below.  Harring- 
ton could  see  that  it  was  a  policeman  by  the  form  of  his  hel- 
met, and  he  tried  to  call.  At  first  his  voice  would  not  rise 
above  a  whisper,  and  the  head  above  disappeared.  A  second  or 
two  later  it  reappeared  a  few  paces  farther  on.  Summoning 
all  his  strength,  Harrington  called  again  and  yet  again.  The 
figure  above  remained  motionless.  At  length  a  voice  an- 
swered : 

"  Who's  that,  and  where  are  you  ?" 

"  Down  here  by  the  water — help  !" 

"  How  did  you  get  there  ?" 

"  I  fell.     Help  !     Help  !" 

His  voice  died,  and  he  was  unconscious  again.  Some  time 
after — how  long  he  could  not  tell — he  heard  the  same  voice 
again  calling,  this  time  from  somewhere  on  his  own  level.  For 
a  long  while  Harrington  heard  him  call,  and  vaguely  thought 
that  it  was  very  curious  that  a  man  should  go  on  shouting  like 
that.  Suddenly  he  grasped  the  fact  that  the  voice  was  calling 
to  him,  and  he  answered,  but  very  feebly. 


276  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

"  What's  that  ?"  called  the  voice. 

"  Help  !"  Harrington  cried.   "  I'm  cold." 

"  We  can't  hear  you,"  replied  the  voice. 

How  can  I  help  that  ?  thought  Harrington,  hopelessly.  Why 
did  they  not  come  to  him,  instead  of  standing  over  there  and 
asking  questions?  But  it  did  not  matter,  and  he  ceased  to 
attempt  to  answer  them. 

The  next  thing  that  he  was  aware  of  was  the  splash  of 
oars  in  the  water  and  men's  voices  close  at  hand ;  then  the 
bumping  and  crunching  of  a  boat  against  the  loose  stones.  A 
moment  later  two  men,  policemen  both,  were  leaning  over 
him. 

"  How  did  you  come  here  ?"  asked  one. 

"  I  fell  over  and  they  pushed  me,"  Harrington  said,  wearily. 

"  Who  pushed  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.     I'm  cold." 

One  of  the  men  passed  his  hands  under  his  shoulders  and 
began  to  raise  him.  Harrington  felt  other  hands  lifting  his 
legs.  But  the  pain  was  horrible — intolerable ;  and,  mercifully, 
he  became  unconscious  once  more.  He  was  dimly  aware  later 
of  renewed  pains  as  he  was  lifted  from  the  boat,  and  then  rec- 
ognized mistily  that  he  was  in  some  sort  of  a  wheeled  vehicle 
being  driven  somewhere. 

When  next  he  came  to  himself  it  seemed  to  be  mid-day. 
He  was  in  a  room  —  a  large  room,  very  white,  with  several 
other  beds  like  that  in  which  he  lay  —  evidently  a  hospital. 
He  was  no  longer  cold  but  most  delightfully  warm,  though  in- 
tense pain  was  shooting  up  his  legs,  and  it  hurt  him  to  breathe. 
As  he  lay  the  figure  of  a  nurse  came  silently  to  his  bedside. 
He  smiled  at  her,  and  whispered,  irrelevantly  : 

"  Thank  you  so  much  !" 

"  Hush  !"  she  said,  and  laid  a  soft,  cool  hand  on  his  forehead. 
It  was  very  pleasant,  and  the  room  grew  misty  and  faded  away 
from  him. 

When  his  eyes  opened  again  there  were  other  figures  around 
him.  The  nurse  still  stood  at  his  left,  and  on  his  right  were 
two  men.  One  held  his  hand,  and  Harrington  saw,  after  a 
while,  that  it  was  Superintendent  Boon,  of  the  street-railway 
company. 


THE    INQUEST  277 

"  How  are  you,  old  man  ?"  Boon  asked,  cheerily.  "  Dr.  Gar- 
celon  here  says  you  will  soon  be  about  again." 

Harrington  could  only  smile  in  reply. 

"  Tell  me  how  it  happened,"  said  Boon. 

"  But  don't  exert  yourself  to  speak  too  much,"  added  Dr. 
Garcelon. 

For  some  minutes  Harrington  lay  silent  while  he  collected 
his  thoughts.  Then  in  a  voice  which  was  little  more  than  a 
whisper,  he  said : 

"  They  got  hold  of  me — about  twenty  of  'em — and  called  me 
names. — '  Take  him  across  the  bridge,'  said  some  one,  and  they 
did. — Nobody  came. — Pushed  me  along  till  bridge. — Then  I 
broke  away — meant  to  jump  into  water — wasn't  any  water — 
so  I  fought,  and  then  I  fell — and  somebody  pushed  my  feet  and 
I  went  down. — Then  policeman  came,  and  it  was  awfully  cold." 

He  told  the  tale  with  difficulty,  and  with  many  pauses  be- 
tween sentences ;  but  his  auditors  understood  him. 

"  Who  were  they  ?"  asked  the  superintendent. 

"  Just  men — strikers." 

"  Did  you  know  any  of  them  ?" 

Harrington  shook  his  head. 

"  Could  you  recognize  them  again  ?" 

"  Perhaps — some — dark,"  said  Harrington,  wearily. 

"Where  was  it?" 

"  Fourth  Street — just  leaving  Jennie's  house." 

"  Whose  house  ?" 

"Jennie's  —  Miss  Masson,  you  know  —  Mrs.  Masson's  dead, 
too." 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Dr.  Garcelon.     "  No  more  talking." 

"  Just  a  minute,"  replied  Boon.  "  Listen  here,  Harrington, 
and  see  if  I  have  got  it  straight.  Don't  speak  if  I  have. 
About  twenty  men,  strikers,  got  hold  of  you  on  Fourth  Street, 
just  as  you  were  leaving  Miss  Masson's  house;  they  abused 
you,  and  some  one  suggested  that  they  take  you  across  the 
bridge.  They  did  so,  pushing  you  along  among  them.  When 
you  were  in  the  middle  of  the  bridge  you  broke  away  and 
tried  to  jump  into  the  water.  There  was  a  fight,  and  some 
one  shoved  your  feet  from  under  you  and  you  fell,  not  into 
the  water,  but  on  the  rocks.     Is  that  right  ?" 


278  MEN    BOKN    EQUAL 

Harrington  nodded. 

"  What  time  was  it?" 

"About  ten  o'clock." 

Boon  and  the  doctor  talked  together  in  low  tones  for  a 
while,  and  the  former  turned  to  go. 

"  Good-bye,  old  man,"  he  said  ;  "  keep  your  courage  up,  and 
you  will  soon  be  all  right  again.  The  strikers  are  not  going 
to  get  away  with  you."  Harrington  smiled,  and  the  superin- 
tendent continued :  "  Who  would  you  like  to  have  me  tell  to 
come  and  see  you  ?" 

"Jennie,"  said  the  injured  man,  feebly. 

"Miss  Masson?" 

Harrington  nodded  ;  and  the  other  went  away,  bidding  him 
again  to  keep  his  courage  up. 

Then  Dr.  Garcelon  set  himself  to  make  further  examina- 
tion of  the  injuries,  during  which  Harrington  was  again  un- 
conscious. The  surgeon  found  a  fracture  of  one  rib,  but  what 
internal  injuries  there  might  be  he  could  not  guess.  The 
right  leg  was  broken  above  the  knee,  and  the  left  ankle  badly 
sprained  and  swollen,  as  also  was  his  left  wrist.  Many  minor 
bruises  were  scattered  over  his  body,  and  one  ugly  scalp-wound 
ran  down  over  his  forehead  above  the  left  eye.  It  had  been  a 
terrible  fall,  and  even  if  there  were  no  other  injuries  than 
those  which  appeared  on  the  surface,  recovery  would  at  best 
be  a  long  and  tedious  process. 

Leaving  the  hospital,  the  superintendent  went  at  once  to  the 
office  of  the  president  of  the  company,  and  told  Mr.  Holt  the 
story  as  he  had  heard  it  from  Harrington.  It  was  decided 
that  the  newspapers  had  better  be  informed,  and  messages 
were  telephoned  to  the  offices  of  both  the  afternoon  papers, 
asking  them  to  send  reporters  up  to  Mr.  Holt's  office,  as  there 
was  interesting  news  in  regard  to  Harrington. 

The  fact  of  Harrington's  injury  and  his  present  location  at 
the  hospital  was  already  known.  An  outline  of  the  facts — of 
his  having  been  found  by  Officer  Gleason,  and  so  forth — had 
been  given  at  the  coroner's  inquest  on  Mrs.  Masson,  which  had 
been  in  progress  for  a  great  part  of  the  day.  The  announce- 
ment had  created  a  decided  sensation,  and  two  widely  different 
theories  were  afloat  as  to  the  origin  of  the  accident.     Accord- 


THE    INQUEST  279 

ing  to  the  theory  of  Harrington's  friends,  he  had  been  captured 
by  the  strikers,  badly  hurt,  and  then  thrown  insensible  from 
the  viaduct.  The  sympathizers  with  the  men  believed  that  he 
had  himself  leaped  from  the  bridge,  intending  to  commit  sui- 
cide, probably  by  drowning,  to  avoid  the  disgrace  of  conviction 
of  the  murder  of  Mrs.  Masson. 

There  were  a  number  of  witnesses  at  the  inquest  whose  tes- 
timony was  listened  to  eagerly  by  as  many  people  as  could 
gain  admittance.  On  the  general  questions  as  to  the  manner 
of  Mrs.  Masson's  death,  both  Dr.  Butler  and  Dr.  Garcelon  in- 
clined to  the  belief  that  it  was  accidental,  caused  probably  by 
a  fall  in  which  her  head  had  struck  against  some  sharp,  hard 
substance — perhaps  the  jutting  angle  of  the  mantel,  in  close 
proximity  to  which  she  was  found  lying.  Against  the  theory 
of  accident,  however,  were,  firstly,  the  fact  of  the  open  front 
door,  and,  secondly,  the  deceased's  last  words,  with  their  direct 
reference  to  Harrington. 

In  regard  to  the  exact  form  of  those  words  the  testimony 
was  divergent.  Wollmer  was  confident  that  she  had  distinctly 
said  :  "  Why  did.  he  come  here  to  murder  me?"  He  was  posi- 
tive that  he  was  not  mistaken.  He  told,  at  considerable  length, 
of  the  unfriendly  relations  which  had  existed  between  Har- 
rington and  the  dead  woman,  and  cited  various  instances  from 
his  recollection  of  conversations  which  he  had  had  with  her,  in 
which  Mrs.  Masson  had  confidentially  expressed  not  only  dis- 
like, but  bodily  fear,  of  the  electrician. 

Annie  Masson's  testimony  was  given  nervously  and  in  tears. 
She  did  not  believe  that  Harrington  was  guilty,  but,  pressed 
for  a  reason,  only  said  that  he  could  not  do  it.  She  spoke  re- 
luctantly of  the  ill-will  existing  between  him  and  her  mother,  but 
her  evidence  was  only  the  more  convincing  by  reason  of  her 
apparent  reluctance  in  giving  it.  Her  memory  of  Mrs.  Mas- 
son's  last  words  was  confused  and  vague.  She  could  not  swear 
that  Wollmer's  version  of  them  was  not  accurate. 

Jennie  was  cool  and  collected,  though  very  white.  She  was 
sure  that  Harrington  could  never  have  made  his  way  to  Fourth 
Street  and  left  again  before  she  arrived.  She  described  her 
parting  from  him,  her  trip  to  the  house,  and  her  discovery  of 
the  body.     Much  time  was  spent  in  the  endeavor  to  arrive  at 


280  MEN    BOEN    EQUAL 

the  exact  number  of  minutes  which  it  had  taken  her,  after 
leaving  the  opera-house,  to  reach  her  home.  Her  recollection 
of  those  accusatory  words  was  clearer  than  her  sister's.  She 
swore  positively  that  there  was  no  mention  of  "  murder,"  or 
any  word  like  it.  Her  mother,  she  was  aware,  had  never 
liked  Harrington,  but  she  did  not  believe  that  he  had  ever 
entertained  the  smallest  ill-will  towards  her.  She  recalled  va- 
rious scraps  of  conversation  with  him,  in  which  Mrs.  Masson 
had  been  discussed  —  among  others,  that  which  had  taken 
place  before  her  portrait,  when  Harrington  had  laughingly  sug- 
gested the  possibility  of  Mrs.  Masson's  taking  Wollmer  for  a 
third  husband.  As  she  related  the  incident  she  looked  at 
Wollmer,  who  flushed  angrily.  She  told  of  her  step-mother's 
growing  eccentricity,  as  shown  particularly  in  her  mysterious 
references  to  the  good  which  was  to  come  to  them  from  Gen- 
eral Harter's  election.  The  sympathy  of  the  audience  seemed 
to  be  with  her  while  she  spoke ;  but  then  she  was  in  love 
with  Harrington,  and  could  hardly  be  expected  to  see  things 
dispassionately. 

Tom  Weatherfield  was  called,  and  expressed  a  clumsy  but 
earnest  conviction  in  Harrington's  innocence. 

On  the  subject  of  the  wording  of  Mrs.  Masson's  dying  sen- 
tences, both  the  medical  men  were  disposed  to  support  Jen- 
nie's testimony,  but,  with  professional  caution,  each  declined  to 
swear  that  the  words  could  not  have  been  as  Wollmer  said. 
They  were  both  strongly  inclined  to  believe  that  the  word 
"  murder"  had  not  been  used.  Dr.  Butler  reiterated  his  opin- 
ion that  the  injury  must  have  been  caused  not  later  than  ten 
o'clock;  but  he  could  not  swear  that  he  might  not  be  mis- 
taken. 

The  engineer  and  conductor  of  the  car  on  which  Harrington 
had  started  from  the  opera-house  testified  as  to  the  time  of 
the  stoppage  of  the  current,  and  to  his  leaving  the  car  to  walk. 

One  of  the  men  from  the  barns  gave  evidence  as  to  the  time 
of  his  arrival  there. 

The  clerk  at  the  drug- store  from  which  Harrington  tele- 
phoned was  on  hand,  and  told  of  that  incident. 

The  policeman,  Williams,  described  his  arrival  at  the  house, 
having  heard  Miss  Masson's  screams  when  he  was  on  the  beat 


THE    INQUEST  281 

in  the  next  street;  and  the  detective  spoke  at  length  of  the 
position  of  the  body  and  the  appearance  of  the  room,  with  the 
entire  absence  of  any  indication  of  a  struggle  or  of  the  pres- 
ence of  any  other  person  in  the  house  at  the  time  that  the 
injury  was  inflicted. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  before  the  jury  re- 
turned its  verdict.  Some  members  of  the  body,  sympathizers 
with  the  strike,  were  in  favor  of  simply  saying  that  the  de- 
ceased came  to  her  death  by  a  blow  or  blows  given  with  an 
instrument  unknown  in  the  hands  of  Charles  Harrington. 
Others  did  not  believe  Harrington  guilty.  Finally  a  compro- 
mise was  effected.  The  verdict  set  forth  that  the  testimony 
as  to  the  manner  of  death  was  inconclusive,  and  the  jury  was 
at  a  loss  to  decide  whether  it  was  the  result  of  accident  or  of 
an  act  of  violence.  The  leading  points  in  the  evidence  were 
gone  over,  and  it  was  pointed  out  that  there  was  much  to  sup- 
port a  suspicion  that  Charles  Harrington  was  the  cause  of 
death.  Meanwhile,  however,  as  there  was  great  uncertainty  as 
to  the  possibility  of  Harrington  being  present  at  the  house  at 
the  time  when  the  injury  appeared  to  have  been  inflicted,  and 
inasmuch,  further,  as  the  said  Harrington  was  at  that  time 
understood  to  be  himself  suffering  from  bodily  injuries  of 
such  a  nature  as  would  keep  him  in  the  hospital  for  at  least 
some  weeks,  so  that  there  was  no  danger  of  said  Harrington 
evading  the  arm  of  justice  when  he  was  needed,  the  jury 
deemed  it  best  to  declare  that  the  deceased  came  to  her  death 
from  causes  unknown.  The  police  department  was  urged  to 
use  its  best  efforts  to  obtain  further  evidence  upon  the  subject, 
which,  together  with  the  testimony  given  at  this  inquest,  should 
at  the  proper  time  be  laid  before  the  prosecuting  attorney,  who 
would  then  use  his  judgment  as  to  the  course  to  be  pursued. 

Altogether,  the  verdict  was  as  reasonable  as  such  documents 
commonly  are,  and  no  more  clumsy  than  many  which  are  on 
record. 

Long  before  the  inquest  was  concluded  Jennie  had  left,  and 
was  at  Harrington's  bedside.  He  had  lain  unconscious  through 
nearly  the  whole  afternoon.  Once  only  he  opened  his  eyes, 
and  seeing  who  it  was  who  held  his  hand  in  hers,  smiled  con- 
tentedly, and  passed  again  into  insensibility. 


282  >IEN    BORN    EQUAL 

During  the  afternoon  Marsh  had  sat  in  his  office.  Having 
been  unable  on  the  preceding  day  to  obtain  connection  with 
Harrington  over  the  telephone,  he  had  written  him  a  note  of 
condolence  and  sympathy,  placing  his  services  at  his  friend's 
disposal  if  there  was  any  way  in  which  he  could  be  of  use. 
From  the  morning  papers  he  had  learned  of  Mrs.  Masson's 
death  and  of  her  dying  words,  which  appeared  as  Wollmer 
had  rendered  them.  Horace  knew  that  there  was  a  mistake 
somewhere ;  Harrington  was  incapable  of  such  an  action. 
But  he  waited  anxiously  for  news  from  the  inquest,  which  was 
in  progress.  When  the  carrier  came  into  his  office  and  tossed 
the  afternoon  paper  on  his  desk,  he  took  it  eagerly,  and  spread 
it  before  him  to  read  the  report  of  the  inquest. 

The  first  words  which  caught  his  eye  were  in  large  black 
type  at  the  head  of  a  column :  "  Harrington  Hurt.  The 
Captain  has  a  mysterious  fall  off  the  Seventh  Street  viaduct." 
Reading  on,  Marsh  learned  of  his  friend's  accident,  not  only  as 
it  had  been  reported  at  the  inquest,  but  in  the  words  in  which 
Superintendent  Boon  had  given  Harrington's  own  account  of 
it  in  Mr.  Holt's  office. 

From  that  he  turned  to  the  account  of  the  inquest,  which 
was  still  unfinished  when  the  paper  had  gone  to  press.  But 
he  read  no  further  than  Wollmer's  testimony.  "The  hound!" 
he  said  to  himself,  between  his  clinched  teeth,  "  to  dare  to  talk 
so  of  such  a  man  as  Harrington  !"  when  Harrington  himself  was 
lying  bruised  and  mutilated  —  killed,  perhaps — by  Wollmer's 
own  lawless  followers. 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  half-past  five.  He  was  due 
at  Columbus  Hall  at  eight.  There  would  be  time  enough  to 
drive  out  to  the  hospital  and  back,  if  he  hurried  with  his  din- 
ner and  his  dressing.  So,  sending  one  of  his  clerks  out  for  a 
cab,  he  hastily  put  away  his  papers  and  left  the  office. 

Jennie  was  at  Harrington's  side  when  Marsh  arrived,  and 
rose  quietly  to  greet  him.  They  had  only  met  once  before, 
but  their  common  interest  in  the  injured  man  made  them 
friends. 

"He  is  unconscious?"  Horace  asked.     She  nodded. 

"  He  has  only  opened  his  eyes  once  since  I  can^e." 

"  Do  you  know  what  the  prospect  is  ?" 


THE    INQUEST  283 

"  He  is  very  badly  hurt — one  leg  broken  and  one  rib.  The 
doctor  does  not  know  if  there  are  any  serious  internal  injuries. 
If  not,  he  thinks  he  will  get  well  again."  Tears  welled  from 
her  eyes  as  she  spoke. 

"  Do  you  know  how  it  happened  ?" 

"The  nurse  told  me  something." 

Horace  had  the  evening  paper  in  the  pocket  of  his  overcoat. 
He  took  it  out,  and  handed  it  to  her,  with  his  finger  on  Boon's 
account  of  the  accident. 

"  Have  you  seen  that  ?" 

She  had  not.  The  nurse  had  given  her  the  substance  of 
what  Harrington  had  told  the  superintendent ;  with  that  ex- 
ception, Jennie  knew  nothing  but  what  had  been  contained  in 
the  brief  announcement  at  the  inquest.  She  took  the  paper 
and  moved  away  from  the  bed  to  read  it,  while  Marsh  leaned 
over  the  injured  man  and  touched  his  hair  caressingly.  Hav- 
ing read  the  article,  Jennie  handed  back  the  paper,  the  tears 
running  down  her  cheeks. 

"  You  came  here  from  the  inquest  ?"  Marsh  whispered.  She 
nodded. 

"Does  he  know  anything  about  it — about  the  suspicions?" 

11 1  think  not,"  she  replied.  "  He  was  at  the  house  just  be- 
fore this  happened,  and  we  did  not  tell  him  anything  of  what 
mother  had  said.  Unless  these  men  told  him  something,  I  don't 
suppose  he  knows." 

"  All  the  better,"  Horace  said.  "  Of  course  it  will  be  kept 
from  him." 

Before  leaving,  Horace  assured  Jennie  of  his  sympathy,  and 
of  his  desire  to  be  of  any  service  that  he  could,  in  words  which 
made  her  very  grateful.  Here  was  at  least  one  friend  who  as- 
sumed her  lover  to  be  innocent  of  the  crime  with  which  he 
was  charged  without  stopping  to  question  or  to  weigh  the 
evidence.  Horace  explained  that  he  was  obliged  to  leave  now, 
as  he  had  to  speak  that  evening ;  but  he  would  return  in  the 
morning,  and  also  call  at  her  house  to  offer  his  services  to  her. 
She  thanked  him.  Mr.  Weatherfleld,  she  said,  was  very  kind 
in  helping  them  with  all  the  necessary  arrangements  for  her 
mother's  funeral ;  but  she  would  let  Horace  know  if  he  could 
do  anything. 


284  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

It  was  nearly  seven  o'clock  when  Horace  entered  his  cab 
again  at  the  hospital  door,  telling  the  driver  to  go  to  a  restau- 
rant which  lay  on  the  way  to  his  rooms.  Here  Marsh  ate  a 
hasty  meal,  which  could  scarcely  be  dignified  with  the  name 
of  dinner,  and  hurried  home  to  dress. 

All  the  way  from  the  hospital  his  thoughts  were  of  his 
injured  friend  and  of  the  double  outrage  to  which  he  had  been 
subjected — the  bodily  assault  which  had  brought  the  physical 
injuries  under  which  he  was  suffering,  and  the  greater  cruelty 
of  the  suspicions  which  Wollmer  had  caused  to  be  directed 
towards  him.  Horace's  heart  was  filled  with  indignation 
against  the  labor  leader  and  the  lawlessness  of  the  men.  That 
afternoon  in  his  office  Marsh  had  signed  the  petition  to  the 
governor  of  the  State,  though  General  Harter  had  refused  to 
do  so,  and  now,  under  the  spur  of  these  new  evidences  of  the 
malignancy  and  blood-thirstiness  of  Wollmer  and  his  followers, 
his  sense  of  justice  cried  shame  upon  the  city  government  that 
suffered  such  things  to  be.  Ugly  threats,  moreover,  were  be- 
ing made  by  the  strikers  that  the  members  of  other  labor  or- 
ganizations would  be  "called  out" — organizations  which  had 
no  connection  either  with  the  steel  works  or  the  street-railway 
company,  and  whose  members  had  no  grievance  against  their 
respective  employers.  The  injustice  of  the  tyranny  which 
could  compel  men  who  were  working  peacefully  and  content- 
edly to  throw  up  their  positions  and  resign  the  means  of  liveli- 
hood of  themselves  and  their  families  outraged  Marsh's  sense 
of  right.  A  quarrel  between  a  certain  number  of  employes 
under  one  employer  and  that  employer  might  be  legitimate ; 
but  when  the  quarrel  was  taken  up  by  "  sympathy  "  by  other 
classes  of  employes,  and  it  became  a  fight  against  society,  this 
was  at  least  a  conspiracy  in  restraint  of  trade,  and  came  meas- 
urably near  to  insurrection. 

He  hoped  that  the  governor  would  be  compelled  to  respond 
to  the  petition  of  the  citizens.  He  almost  hoped  that  if  the 
troops  were  called  out  their  presence  would,  as  the  strikers 
predicted,  precipitate  open  riots,  that  the  lawless  element  of 
the  city  might  be  taught  a  lesson  which  they  would  not  soon 
forget. 

There   might  be  a  superficial   inconsistency  between   these 


THE    INQUEST  285 

feelings  and  his  public  attitude  as  a  champion  of  the  masses. 
But  behind  this  inconsistency  lay  truth.  As  he  had  told 
General  Harter  that  morning,  the  cause  of  the  masses  or  of 
labor  was  not  to  be  advanced  by  encouraging  men  to  do  wrong. 

These  thoughts  boiled  within  him  as  he  dressed,  and  he 
thanked  Heaven  that  he  had  not  at  the  outset  made  the  mis- 
take of  professing  any  sympathy  with  the  strike.  He  gave 
little  thought  now  to  the  speech  which  he  was  to  make  that 
evening.  With  experience  he  had  gained  courage.  Above 
all,  that  night  at  Jackson  had  taught  him  that  he  need  have  no 
fear,  however  ill-prepared  he  might  be,  of  finding  lack  of  words 
to  express  his  thoughts  when  the  moment  came.  His  theme, 
indeed,  was  usually  the  same,  but  each  time  that  he  took  it  up 
he  shaped  it  into  new  forms  and  clothed  it  in  fresh  phrases. 
Some  accidental  collocation  of  words  in  one  of  his  own  sen- 
tences would  suggest  to  his  mind  new  imagery,  in  presenting 
which  to  his  audience  he  found  himself  led  into  untried  paths 
which  he  illuminated  as  he  trod  them  with  illustration  and 
metaphor. 

Columbus  Hall  was  situated  but  a  short  distance  from  the 
rooms  where  Marsh  and  Barry  lived,  and  when  Horace  was 
dressed  he  found  that  there  remained  abundance  of  time.  He 
was  on  the  point  of  leaving  when  Barry  entered,  returning 
from  dining  at  the  club.  Marsh  asked  him  if  he  remembered 
his  promise  to  call  that  evening  upon  Miss  Holt. 

"  I  am  going  right  up  there,"  said  Barry.  "  This  is  to  be  a 
call  of  state,  so  I  am  going  early." 

Horace  was  anxious  not  to  appear  selfish,  but  he  implored 
his  friend  to  remember  his  errand. 

"If  she  will  not  talk  to  me,"  he  said,  "at  least  make  her 
tell  you  what  is  the  matter.  You  may  be  able  to  help  in 
some  way,  and  I  know  you  will  if  you  can.  I  can  hardly  tell 
you  how  much  it  means  to  me,  old  fellow.  It  seems  that 
everything  else  in  life  is  so  black  just  now.  I  doubt  if  I 
should  keep  sane  in  this  condition  much  longer.  Remember 
that  I  shall  be  thinking  of  you  all  the  evening.  No  matter 
what  I  may  be  saying  to  those  men,  my  thoughts  are  with 
you  and  her.  I  am  going  to  believe  that  you  are  succeeding, 
and  I  shall  talk  fifty  times  better  for  it." 


286  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

"  I  will  succeed  if  I  can,"  "Barry  said  ;  "  but  I  wish  I  could 
be  there  and  hear  you  talk.  I  may  get  in  later,  in  time  to  hear 
you  perorate." 

Twenty  minutes  later  Marsh  was  bowing  before  an  audience 
which  filled  every  seat,  above  and  below,  in  the  great  hall. 


XXIII 

HORACE  PUTS  HIMSELF  ON  RECORD 

Barry  had  been  accustomed  of  late  to  inquire  for  "the 
ladies  "  when  calling  at  the  Holt  mansion.  On  this  occasion 
he  asked  with  dignity  if  Miss  Holt  was  at  home.  Whatever 
surprise  Thomas  may  have  felt  at  the  unusual  formula,  no  evi- 
dence of  it  was  visible  in  his  imperturbable  face  as  he  replied 
that  she  was. 

Entering  the  sitting-room,  the  visitor  found  Miss  Holt  and 
Miss  Willerby  only.  Neither  by  word  nor  manner  did  he  imply 
that  the  existence  of  any  third  person  was  of  the  smallest  im- 
portance to  him. 

"Miss  Caley  is  not  well,"  said  Miss  Holt,  as  soon  as  the 
party  was  seated ;  "  she  had  a  headache,  and  was  not  able  to 
come  down  to  dinner." 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Barry,  in  a  tone  of  supreme  indifference; 
"  but  how  are  you  yourself,  Miss  Holt  ?  You  were  not  well 
the  evening  before  last.     Has  it  all  passed?" 

"Oh  yes,  thank  you!  It  was  nothing — only  feminine  fool- 
ishness, I  suspect,"  she  replied. 

There  had,  in  truth,  been  no  return  of  the  indisposition  of 
that  evening.  Perhaps  the  violent  counter -irritation  of  the 
scene  with  Blakely  had  operated  favorably  upon  her  system — 
just  as  there  are  cases  of  apparent  authenticity  wherein  officers 
have  left  their  beds  when  seriously  ill  to  lead  their  troops  into 
battle,  and  have  found  themselves  at  the  end  of  the  hard-fought 
day  cured.  Thoroughly  worn  out,  moreover,  she  had  slept 
that  night  as  she  had  not  slept  for  weeks.  Scarcely  awaking 
to  drink  a  cup  of  tea  and  eat  a  piece  of  toast  at  breakfast-time, 
she  had  slept  on  dreamlessl}T  till  noon.  It  was  rest — rest  both 
of  mind  and  body — that  she  had  needed,  and  the  twelve  good 
hours  of  slumber  were  excellent  medicine. 


288  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

Some  flowers  and  a  note,  short  and  carefully  worded  but 
ardent,  were  brought  to  her  from  Blakely  at  the  luncheon- 
table.  The  note  did  not  affect  her,  and  the  flowers  she  handed 
in  the  open  box  to  Miss  Willerby,  with  the  indifferent  com- 
ment : 

"  Pretty,  aren't  they  ?" 

They  were  pretty — pretty  enough  to  rave  over.  But  when 
Miss  Willerby  returned  the  box,  Jessie  merely  passed  it  to 
Thomas,  saying : 

"  Just  put  them  in  water  somewhere,  please." 

Sitting  after  luncheon  in  the  drawing-room  listlessly,  with  a 
book  which  she  was  not  reading  in  her  lap,  she  let  her  thoughts 
go  back  over  that  passionate  scene  which  had  occurred  in  this 
same  room  the  evening  before.  It  seemed  much  longer  ago; 
and  she  looked  curiously  at  the  mantel  on  which  they  had  been 
leaning  and  at  the  lounge.  In  her  present  healthier  condition 
she  could  study  the  episode  critically.  What  was  it,  she  won- 
dered, that  had  brought  her  to  her  senses  at  that  moment? 
WTith  the  mood  which  had  preceded  the  awakening,  in  which 
she  had  permitted  so  much,  she  believed,  looking  back  upon 
it  now,  that  she  could  honestly  tell  herself  that  Blakely's  per- 
sonality had  little  or  nothing  to  do.  If  it  had  been  any  one 
else?  she  asked  herself.  But  there  was  no  one  else  whom  it 
could  conceivably  have  been;  so  the  question  was  fruitless. 
To  the  extent  that  he  had  known  so  well  how  to  handle  him- 
self so  as  not  to  break  in  upon  the  spell  which  held  her,  to  that 
extent  it  was  he — the  individual  he — to  whom  she  had  yielded. 
But  the  spell  itself  was  not  of  his  own  weaving,  but  of  her  own 
sickness.  If  she  had  not  recovered  when  she  did,  had  he  had 
but  a  little  more  time,  how  far  his  power  would  have  asserted 
itself  and  held  her  —  that  was  another  question.  He  himself 
had  said :  "  You  would  not  then  have  thrown  me  off  so  easi- 
ly." But  it  was  a  question  which  she  preferred  not  to  con- 
sider. 

And  what  was  it  that  had  come  to  her  rescue?  Sitting  there 
in  the  dreamy  languor  of  the  silent  afternoon  and  seeming  to 
see  again,  not  without  some  stirring  of  her  blood,  his  eyes  as 
he  had  leaned  over  her,  she  knew  what  it  was.  Something  in 
those  eyes  as  they  met  hers  had,  vaguely  through  the  mist, 


HORACE    TUTS    HIMSELF    ON    RECORD  289 

recalled  to  her  mind  the  words  of  Mrs.  Tisserton  :  "  He  is  like 
some  sort  of  an  evil  god ;"  and  also  the  words  which  followed : 
"  I  pity  the  girl  who  ever  finds  herself  in  his  power,  as  many 
doubtless  have  done  in  the  past  and  more  will  do  in  the  future." 
It  had  dawned  upon  her  gradually  that  she  was  one  of  those 
girls — a  girl  to  be  pitied — in  his  power.  And,  almost  without 
her  own  volition,  she  had  put  her  hand  up  between  their  faces 
and  had  made  him  let  her  rise. 

It  was  with  a  comfortable  sense  of  relief  and  of  escape  that 
she  sat  with  all  her  muscles  relaxed  and  her  head  thrown  back 
upon  the  soft  cushions  of  the  chair.  She  was  sitting  so  when 
Mrs.  Tisserton  herself  was  announced. 

"  I  wanted  to  come  and  ask  how  you  were  this  morning, 
dear,"  she  said,  in  her  even  voice ;  "  but  I  had  so  many  mill- 
ion useless  things  to  do  that  it  was  impossible.  But  how  are 
you  ?" 

"Oh,  I  am  really  well,"  Jessie  answered.  "I  was  miserable 
last  night,  and  came  dreadfully  near  creating  a  scene.  But 
it  was  nothing,  after  all ;  and  I  am  not  sure  that  I  am  not  dis- 
appointed. I  slept  most  prosaically  last  night,  and  I  am  per- 
fectly well  —  only  awfully  drowsy,"  and  she  raised  one  of  her 
hands,  and  let  it  fall  lifelessly  again  on  the  arm  of  the  chair  to 
illustrate  her  heaviness. 

"  And  how  did  your  escort  conduct  himself  ?"  asked  Mrs, 
Tisserton. 

"Oh,  about  as  you  would  expect  him  to,"  Jessie  answered. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  said  the  other,  dryly,  "  because 
under  such  circumstances  I  should  expect  him  to  behave  very 
badly — about  as  badly  as  he  could." 

"  Well,  perhaps  he  did  not  behave  very  well,"  Jessie  said, 
lightly ;  "  but  then  you  know  you  warned  me  long  ago,  and  I 
am  proof." 

"Yes,  I  did— and  I  meant  it." 

There  was  silence  for  some  seconds,  during  which  Jessie 
could  see  that  her  friend  was  trying  to  say  something  which 
she  did  not  quite  know  how  to  approach.  So  she  waited 
patiently. 

"  I  really  did  mean  it,"  Mrs.  Tisserton  said  at  last,  "  and  I 
mean  it  now.     You  know  me  too  well   to  think  that  I  am 

19 


200  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

meddling,  don't  you,  Jessie,  dear?  You  know  that  I  love  you 
too  well  to  be  really  impertinent,  even  if  I  seem  so?"  Jessie 
smiled  and  held  out  her  hand,  which  the  other  squeezed  and 
went  on  :  "  Well,  I  don't  know  how  to  say  it,  but  oh !  Jessie, 
don't  let  Mr.  Blakely  take  you  in !  Don't,  please,  let  yourself 
care  for  him— don't,  even  a  little  bit !  I  know  the  type  of 
man  so  well,  Jessie !  I  am  married,  you  know — and  then  my 
wicked  appearance  brings  them  all  to  me.  You  will  never 
know  as  much  of  men  as  I  do — they  will  never  dare  to  say  the 
things  to  you  that  they  do  to  me ;  and  until  after  you  are  mar- 
ried you  won't  know  a  quarter  of  what  I  do.  But,  please  take 
my  word  for  it,  Jessie,  don't  have  anything  to  do  with  him. 
Do  you  know,  darling,  that  before  the  reception  broke  up 
everybody  in  that  room  last  night  knew  that  he  had  taken  you 
home.  I  heard  it  a  dozen  times,  and,  oh!  it  made  me  just 
burn  !" 

Jessie,  too,  felt  herself  burning  a  little,  and  she  said,  rather 
weakly : 

"Do  you  mean  that  people  talked  about  us?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know— not  quite  that ;  but  yes  !  they  weren't 
exactly  nice.  It  was  their  manner,  you  know,  more  than  any- 
thing that  they  said." 

Mrs.  Tisserton  had  been  speaking  with  unusual  vehemence 
for  }ier — not  at  all  like  her  ordinarily  placid  self.  It  occurred 
to  Jessie  that  there  must  be  some  reason  to  account  for  her 
friend's  warmth  more  than  a  mere  instinctive  distrust  of 
Blakely ;  she  must  have  some  positive  knowledge  of  things  to 
his  discredit. 

"  Did  he  ever  say  or  do  anything  to  you  f  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  he  approached  me,  of  course,  at  first — sounded  me,  as 
it  were.  But  that  is  nothing.  Either  I  was  not  encouraging 
enough  or  he  found  me  too  commonplace.  At  all  events,  I 
have  not  had  anything  to  complain  of  from  him;  but" — and 
she  hesitated  before  proceeding  diffidently — "  you  know  that  I 
don't  tell  tales  and  carry  scandal,  don't  you,  dear?  Well,  there 
is  a  dreadful  story  going  round  about  him  and  one  of  our 
friends.  Jack  told  me,  and  says  that  it's  true.  I  am  not 
going  to  tell  you  about  it,  dear ;  but  it's  horrid.  And,  oh ! 
please,  Jessie,  don't  have  anything  to  do  with  him." 


HORACE    PUTS    HIMSELF    ON    RECORD  291 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,  dear ;  there  is  no  danger." 

Mrs.  Tisserton  looked  at  her  doubtfully  a  minute ;  then  lean- 
ing forward  and  placing  her  hands  on  Jessie's  knees,  she 
looked  into  her  face. 

"Honestly,  darling,  there  is  no  danger  at  all  of  there  ever 
being  anything  between  you  and  Marshal  Blakely  ?" 

"  Honestly,  there  is  no  danger  at  all !"  and  there  was  a  ring 
in  the  words  which  so  satisfied  Mrs.  Tisserton  that  she  got  up 
impulsively  from  her  chair  and  kissed  Jessie  warmly  twice. 

For  the  rest  of  that  day  Jessie  was  better  and  more  light- 
hearted  than  she  had  been  for  a  long  time,  so  that  Miss  Wil- 
lerby  wondered  at  her  gayety.  There  was  still  cause  enough  for 
anxiety  in  the  aspect  of  the  strike,  and  the  news  of  the  injury 
to  Mrs.  Masson  touched  Jessie  deeply.  She  had  met  Harring- 
ton, and  of  course  knew  his  name  well.  Of  late  she  had  felt 
most  grateful  to  him  for  his  faithfulness  to  her  father  and  the 
company.  Jessie  wondered  whether  it  would  be  out  of  place 
for  her  to  call  on  Jennie  Masson  and  tell  her  of  her  sympathy. 
It  would  probably,  she  decided,  be  in  better  taste  to  wait  for 
a  few  days.  The  next  morning  came  the  news  of  Mrs.  Mas- 
son's  death,  and  in  the  afternoon  the  account  of  the  inquest 
and  the  report  of  the  calamity  which  had  befallen  Harrington. 
Jessie  read  the  paper  with  scarcely  less  indignation  than  Hor- 
ace had  felt.  When  her  father  came  home  to  dinner  she  ran 
to  him  eagerly,  and  asked  if  there  was  any  possibility  of  Har- 
rington's guilt. 

"  None  at  all,  my  child,"  said  Mr.  Holt,  confidently.  "  It  is 
much  more  likely  that  Wollmer  did  it  himself." 

The  assault  upon  Harrington,  showing  the  increasing  bold- 
ness of  the  strikers,  naturally  made  her  more  uneasy  in  regard 
to  her  father.  He  was  obliged  to  go  down-town  that  evening, 
and  Jessie  was  anxious  and  nervously  restless.  It  was  difficult 
for  her  to  settle  down  quietly. 

"  I  wish  there  was  somewhere  to  go  to-night,"  she  had  been 
saying  when  Barry  was  announced.  "  Why  isn't  there  a  thea- 
tre-party or  something — something  where  one  can  forget  one's 
self  for  a  while  ?" 

With  her  nervousness  and  Barry's  preoccupation  the  conver- 
sation did  not  flourish.     They  talked  flaccidly  of  various  mat- 


292  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

ters — the  Bartop  reception,  the  Harrington-Masson  complica- 
tions, and  the  strike  generally  ;  and  all  the  while  Barry  was 
fearful  lest  other  callers  should  arrive,  and  wondered  how  he 
was  to  find  an  opportunity  to  broach  the  cause  of  Marsh.  He 
had  taken  a  seat  close  to  Miss  Holt,  Miss  Willerby  being  on  the 
farther  side  of  the  fireplace.  It  was  not  long  before  that 
young  lady,  conscious  of  the  restraint  in  the  conversation  and 
long  accustomed  to  finding  herself  the  superfluous  third  person 
at  conversations  which  ought  to  be  tete-a-tete,  began  to  suspect 
that  Barry  had  something  to  say  to  their  hostess  in  private. 
So,  under  pretence  of  going  up-stairs  "  to  see  how  Mary  is," 
she  escaped  from  the  room,  leaving  those  two  together.  As 
soon  as  Barry  had  resumed  his  seat  he  nerved  himself  for  a 
plunge. 

"  I  have  something  very  particular  to  talk  to  you  about,"  he 
said,  in  solemn  tones. 

"Really?  How  delightful!  I  want  some  excitement  to- 
night." 

"  I  want  to  talk  about  Horace  Marsh." 

Her  lip  curled  slightly  as  she  asked : 

"Did  he  send  you  here  to  talk  to  me  ?" 

"  Hardly  that.  He  knew  I  was  coming,  and  implored  me 
to  speak  to  you  for  him." 

"  That  was  very  condescending  of  him,  but  a  little  hard  on 
you  and  me ;  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"No;  I  think  he  is  a  good  enough  topic  of  conversation  for 
anybody.     What  is  the  matter  between  you  and  him  ?" 

"  He  need  not  have  sent  you  to  me  to  ask  that,"  she  said, 
contemptuously.     "  Why  did  he  not  tell  you  himself  ?" 

"  Because  he  does  not  know." 

"  Because  he  chooses  to  pretend  not  to  know,"  she  said. 

"  No,  you  are  mistaken,"  Barry  replied,  earnestly ;  "  he 
really  does  not  know.  He  knows  that  you  came  as  near  cut- 
ting him  as  a  lady  could  in  her  own  house  the  other  evening, 
and  he  knows  that  you  do  not  answer  his  letters — " 

"  I  have  had  only  one,"  she  interrupted. 

"  Well,  his  letter,  then.  But  the  reason  of  it  all  he  does  not 
know." 

Miss  Holt  remained  silent,  so  Barry  said  again  : 


HORACE    PUTS    HIMSELF    ON    RECORD  293 

"  What  is  the  matter?  Surely  it  is  nothing  so  dreadful  that 
it  cannot  be  spoken  of?" 

"  It  is  dreadful  enough ;  but  it  is  ridiculous  for  him  to  pre- 
tend not  to  know.  If  I  tell  you  now,  it  is  you  I  am  telling 
and  not  him.  When  a  man  turns  traitor,  and,  after  pretending 
to  be  your  friend  and  calling  at  your  house,  attacks  you  bit- 
terly— not  behind  your  back,  but  in  public  speeches,  so  that  it 
is  all  published  in  the  papers  and  the  whole  town  knows  of  it 
— what  is  the  use  of  his  pretending  to  wonder  why  you  no  lon- 
ger like  him  ?     What  is  the  need  of  explanation  !" 

Barry  began  to  think  that  he  saw  light. 

"  I  believe  you  do  Horace  Marsh  an  injustice,  Miss  Holt." 

"Possibly,  according  to  the  views  of  politicians.  Men  say 
things,  I  believe,  in  the  way  of  politics  and  business  which  they 
would  not  dream  of  saying  to  each  other  at  the  club  or  in  pri- 
vate life,  without  either  meaning  or  giving  offence.  But,  for 
my  part,  I  cannot  understand  how  a  man  can  be  one  thing  on 
the  platform  and  another  at  the  dinner-table.  Perhaps  it  is 
only  woman's  ignorance ;  perhaps  I  am  prudish.  But  the  fact 
remains  that  I  cannot  and  will  not  tolerate  as  a  friend  and  a 
visitor  at  this  house  a  man  who  attacks  my  father  in  public  and 
takes  part  with  his  enemies." 

"  And  when  did  Horace  do  this  ?"  asked  Barry. 

"  I  am  not  keeping  a  record  of  his  public  utterances.  I  sup- 
pose that  he  does  it  every  time  that  he  makes  one  of  his  precious 
speeches — at  least,  he  did  it  once,  and  that  was  enough." 

"  I  think  I  can  name  that  one  occasion,"  said  Barry. 

"  Possibly  you  can.  It  was  disgraceful  enough  for  any  one 
to  remember  it." 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,"  he  continued,  "  the  speech  you  refer 
to  was  one  that  he  made  at  Jackson  nearly  a  month  ago — just 
when  the  strike  was  beginning." 

"  Perhaps  it  was.     But  what  does  that  matter  ?" 

"  I  think  you  heard  of  it  through  the  Democratic  paper,  the 
World  r 

"And  what  if  I  did?" 

"  Did  you  ever  speak  to  Mr.  Holt  about  that  speech  ?" 

Jessie  hesitated.  "No,  I  think  not.  Why  should  I?"  she 
asked. 


294  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  that  he  received  a  letter  from  Horace  on 
the  subject  ?" 

"  No  ;  of  course  not.  Mr.  Marsh  seems  to  be  fond  of  writing 
letters."  But  even  as  she  spoke  her  heart  was  beating  violently, 
and  dimly  it  dawned  upon  her  that  possibly  there  had  been  a 
mistake  somewhere. 

"  Miss  Holt,"  Barry  began,  slowly,  "  you  are,  let  me  say  again, 
doing  Horace  Marsh  a  great  injustice.  He  did  deliver  a  speech 
at  Jackson  ;  but  he  never  said  one  word  of  what  was  imputed 
to  him." 

"  It  is  very  easy  to  say  that  now.  How  can  I  prove  to  the 
contrary  ?     And  how  did  it  get  into  the  paper,  then  ?" 

"He  is  not  saying  that  only  now.  He  said  it  at  the  time. 
He  was  angrier  that  day  when  he  returned  to  town  and  read 
that  article  than  I  have  ever«een  him,  I  think,  in  my  life.  He 
told  me  of  it  that  evening.  He  wrote  to  your  father  that  day. 
He  would  have  written  to  the  paper  to  contradict  it,  but  he  was 
dissuaded  by  his  partner,  General  Harter,  and  other  leaders  of 
the  Democratic  party." 

"  Do  you  expect  me  to  believe  all  that  ?  Do  you  believe  it 
yourself?"     But  her  heart  misgave  her  as  she  spoke. 

"  Certainly  I  do.  Ask  your  father  ;  ask  General  Harter — 
he  would  probably  tell  the  truth." 

"  And  how  would  such  a  thing  get  into  the  paper  at  all,  I 
should  like  to  know  ?"  she  asked,  defiantly. 

"That  was  a  trick  of  what  is  called  party  journalism.  The 
strike  was  practically  decided  upon  that  day.  The  Democratic 
leaders  wanted  the  labor  vote,  and  the  Democratic  organs  pre- 
pared to  bid  for  the  support  of  the  strikers  at  once,  before  there 
was  a  possibility  of  the  other  fellows  getting  ahead  of  them. 
Horace  happened  to  be  the  only  party  leader  who  was  making  a 
speech  that  evening.  They  took  his  speech  and  tacked  on  to 
it  a  lot  of  stuff  as  a  text  on  which  to  preach.  Horace,  as  I  have 
said,  was  furious  when  he  read  it.  He  was  dissuaded  from  con- 
tradicting it  publicly  by  the  arguments  of  his  friends,  who  ap- 
pealed to  him  not  to  make  a  split  in  the  party  ranks  at  such  a 
critical  moment.  Have  you  read  any  of  the  reports  of  his  later 
speeches  ?"  Barry  asked. 

"  No.     That  one  was  enough." 


HORACE    TUTS   HIMSELF    ON   RECORD  295 

"That  is  a  pity.  If  you  had,  you  would  have  known  by  this 
time  that  Horace  has  never  once,  in  all  this  campaign,  referred 
to  the  labor  question  from  the  platform." 

"  I  suppose  he  thinks  that  he  has  expressed  himself  once,  and 
that  is  enough.  He  cannot  be  accused  of  not  being  friendly  to 
the  strikers ;  there  is  that  speech  to  prove  his  friendship.  And 
now  he  hopes  to  keep  the  good-will  of  the  other  side — my  good- 
will and  my  father's — by  keeping  silent,  and  in  private  disown- 
ing the  one  thing  that  he  has  said.  That,  I  suppose,  is  clever 
politics." 

"You  are  uncharitable,  Miss  Holt.  Such  things  are  not 
worthy  of  your  lips." 

"  And  what  interest  has  Mr.  Barry  in  helping  him  in  his  de- 
ception ?  Is  it  his  gratitude  or  mine  that  you  hope  to  gain  ?" 
She  spoke  hotly,  and  knowing  that  she  was  wrong.  Some- 
thing within  her  told  her  that  Barry  spoke  the  truth,  and  in 
her  anger  against  herself  she  spoke  blindly  and  unthinkingly. 

11  Pardon  me,"  said  Barry,  quietly,  "  but  that  is  even  less 
worthy  of  you  than  the  other." 

In  the  silence  which  followed  an  idea  occurred  to  Barry,  and 
he  acted  upon  it  at  once. 

"  Miss  Holt,"  he  began,  "  I  am  going  to  make  a  proposition 
to  you  which  I  should  not  think  of  making  to  a  lesser  woman. 
It  may  sound  absurd  at  first,  but  I  believe  your  real  sense  of 
justice  will  tell  you  to  act  upon  it.  Horace  is  speaking  to- 
night at  Columbus  Hall.  I  tell  you  that  you  have  wronged 
him  bitterly.  You  think  you  have  not.  You  were  wishing,  a 
short  time  since,  that  there  was  somewhere  to  go  this  evening. 
Come  and  hear  him.  Come  and  listen  with  your  own  ears  to 
the  doctrines  which  he  teaches,  and  let  your  own  judgment 
decide  for  you  whether  he  is  a  traitor  or  not.     Come  !" 

Jessie  hesitated. 

"  Will  there  be  any  women  there  ?" 

"  Oh  yes ;  plenty.  We  can  stay  back  near  the  door  some- 
where, where  we  shall  not  be  seen.  It  is  now  nearly  nine 
o'clock ;  we  can  get  there  by  a  quarter  past,  and  he  will  still 
have  nearly  an  hour  to  talk.     Come !" 

Again  she  hesitated.  At  last  she  rose  hastily  from  her 
chair. 


296  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

"  I  will,  if  Grace  will  come." 

"  I  will  telephone  for  a  carriage,"  said  Barry,  as  she  left  the 
room  to  seek  Miss  Willerby,  whom  she  found,  to  her  astonish- 
ment, sitting  reading  peacefully  in  her  own  room. 

Twenty  minutes  later,  when  the  three  arrived  at  the  hall,  it 
was  so  crowded  that  they  had  difficulty  in  obtaining  admission. 
Way  was  made  for  the  women,  however,  and  two  seats  at  the 
very  back  of  the  hall  were  surrendered  to  them  by  the  occu- 
pants, who  stood  thereafter  with  Barry  and  other  men  in  the 
aisle. 

Long  before  she  was  seated  Jessie  was  already  absorbed  in 
what  the  speaker  was  saying.  At  first  she  had  said  to  herself, 
"  This  is  not  he."  There  was  a  strength  and  a  ring  to  the 
voice  which  filled  the  vast  auditorium  which  she  could  not 
reconcile  with  the  subdued  accents  that  she  was  accustomed  to 
hear  from  him.  He  looked  of  larger  frame,  too,  there  in  front 
of  the  stage  alone,  and  the  vigor  and  manliness  of  the  few  gest- 
ures that  he  used  differed  so  widely  from  the  quiet  movements 
which  he  employed  in  the  drawing-room.  By  degrees,  how- 
ever, the  more  familiar  undertones  of  the  voice  reached  her, 
and  she  settled  in  her  seat  breathlessly  to  listen. 

"  I  tell  you,"  Marsh  was  saying,  "  and  not  only  I,  but  all  the 
voice  of  history  tells  you — all  the  accumulated  evidence  of  the 
ages,  all  the  daily  experience  of  each  one  of  you  in  your  walk 
of  life  tells  you — that  there  is  no  other  way.  Whether  it  be  an 
individual  or  a  party  or  a  nation,  there  lies  no  path  to  honor 
but  the  path  which  conscience  points.  There  is  no  man  so 
powerful,  not  though  he  be  'born  in  the  porphyry  chamber' 
with  '  queens  by  his  cradle,'  that  he  can  outrage  his  conscience 
and  live  happy  and  die  in  honor.  The  outward  husk  of  pub- 
lic honor  may  be  given  to  him;  but  nothing  can  'save  his 
secret  soul  from  nightly  fears '  and  the  curses  and  the  tears  of 
those  whom  he  has  wronged.  There  is  no  party,  though  it  be 
lifted  into  power  by  the  unanimous  voice  of  a  victorious  peo- 
ple, that  can  hold  that  people's  suffrages  if  it  be  untrue  to  it- 
self. There  is  no  nation  that  can  do  wrong  and  live.  These 
sound  like  platitudes,"  he  said,  dropping  his  voice,  "  and  per- 
haps they  are.  You  hear  the  same  things  weekly  from  the 
pulpit  and  daily  from  the  press;  you  say  them  to  each  other 


HORACE    TUTS    HIMSELF    ON    RECORD  297 

every  hour.  And  how  many  of  you  act  upon  them  ?  I  am 
speaking  now  as  a  politician,  not  as  a  clergyman.  I  do  not 
ask  you  of  your  private  lives  and  business  morals — those  are 
your  affairs.  But  in  affairs  political,  how  many  of  you  will 
hesitate  to  gain  a  party  advantage  or  to  help  some  friendly 
candidate  by  tampering  with  the  truth,  or  playing  upon  the 
weaknesses  of  human  nature?  Believe  me,  that  when  you  do 
that  you  are  doing  your  party  and  your  friend  the  unkindest 
wrong.  I  have  to-night — a  thing  I  seldom  do — arraigned  the 
Republican  party  or  some  of  its  leaders  for  what  I  take  to 
be  the  conscious  dishonesty  of  those  leaders  on  certain  ques- 
tions connected  with  the  tariff.  I  do  not  do  this  for  the  sake 
of  attacking  them,  of  hurting  them,  or  of  pulling  them  down. 
There  is  no  need  of  that.  The  wrong  itself  injures  them  far 
more  than  anything  which  we  can  do  or  say.  The  rot  within 
destroys  far  more  surely  than  the  winds  without.  The  ungod- 
ly never  yet  digged  a  pit  but  they  fell  into  the  midst  of  it 
themselves.  A  nation  may  stand  unshaken  against  the  united 
armies  of  the  world,  and  crumble  by  the  vice  that  is  within  it- 
self. A  party  may  have  recourse  to  party  tricks  and  may 
cater  to  the  support  of  unworthy  men,  and  gain  thereby  the 
votes  which  will  win  it  a  given  election.  It  may  rise  to  pow- 
er more  quickly,  and  it  will  fall  as  quickly  as  it  rose.  There 
can  be  no  monopoly  of  fraud  and  falsehood,  for  they  are  many- 
sided,  and  the  tricks  of  one  party  at  one  election  will  be 
matched  by  the  tricks  of  the  other  at  the  next.  But  truth  is 
one,  and  there  is  no  weapon  in  all  the  armory  of  falsehood 
which  can  be  used  against  the  party  which  possesses  it.  The 
party  which  rises  solely  by  the  use  of  truth  may  rise  more 
slowly,  but  once  in  power  not  all  the  thunders  of  national  ad- 
versity nor  all  the  lightning  of  partisan  abuse  can  shake  or 
scathe  it." 

Barry,  as  he  stood,  glanced  from  time  to  time  at  Miss  Holt, 
and  saw  that  she  sat  leaning  eagerly  forward  in  her  chair,  lis- 
tening with  parted  lips  and  glowing  face  to  every  word  that 
fell  from  Marsh's  lips. 

The  speaker  had  dropped  his  voice  to  a  conversational  tone 
to  tell  an  anecdote.  He  did  it  well,  and  a  laugh  ran  over  the 
audience.     Then  he  rose  to  speak  in  a  strain  of  triumphant 


298  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

confidence  of  the  certainty  of  success  which  lay  before  the 
party — a  success  which  need  never  end  or  weaken  if  the  party 
was  but  true  to  itself;  and  the  hall  shook  to  thunderous  ap- 
plause. In  closing  Marsh  made  a  lofty  plea  in  behalf  of  the 
high  principles  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  the 
Constitution  which,  he  said,  when  it  was  framed,  was  but  an 
embodiment  of  an  ideal  —  a  hopeless  and  wild  ideal,  as  it 
seemed  then  to  all  the  world  but  those  few  patriotic  souls  who 
framed  it.  It  was  common  to  believe  and  say  that  ideals  had 
no  place  in  politics  to-day ;  but  it  was  only  by  virtue  of  the 
spark  of  the  divine  in  it,  the  high  inspiration  that  lifted  it 
above  the  level  of  all  other  governments  of  earth,  that  the 
United  States  Constitution  had  lived.  But  how  far,  he  asked, 
had  the  government,  based  upon  the  Constitution,  fallen  from 
the  first  ideal  and  lost  sight  of  the  inspiration  which  illumined 
it  ?  Oh !  for  a  party  which  would  go  before  the  nation  with 
no  platform  but  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  and 
would  live  up  to  the  spirit  of  it !  The  party  which  took  this 
government  and  placed  it  once  again  on  those  pure  principles, 
and  held  it  there,  might  live  forever.  And  this  was  the  task 
which  lay  before  this  party  now — a  task  the  accomplishment 
of  which  would  lift  the  party  even  above  the  level  of  those  who 
first  had  welded  that  noble  instrument — a  task  more  sure  to 
hold  the  honor  of  the  ages  than  any  deed  which  had  been  done 
by  man. 

He  ceased,  bowing  acknowledgment  of  the  applause.  The 
chairman  of  the  evening  advanced  to  the  front  of  the  stage 
and  raised  his  hand  for  silence.  Before  he  could  begin  to 
speak,  a  voice  issued  from  under  the  side  gallery,  in  close  prox- 
imity to  the  stage.  The  speaker  himself  was  not  visible, 
though  the  whole  audience  turned  in  his  direction ;  but  his 
words  reached  amply  to  all  corners  of  the  hall.  "  Mr.  Chair- 
man," said  the  voice,  "  I  should  like  to  ask  Mr.  Marsh  one 
question,  if  I  may." 

The  chairman  turned  to  Horace,  who  came  forward,  and  by 
a  bow  in  the  direction  from  which  the  voice  came  signified  his 
readiness  to  answer. 

"  I  wish,"  resumed  the  voice,  "  to  ask  you  a  question  which 
I  know  will  interest  everybody  here.     I  have  listened  to  you 


HORACE    PUTS    HIMSELF    ON    RECORD  299 

to-night  and  on  former  occasions  with  great  pleasure.  I  be- 
lieve in  what  you  say  and  admire  the  way  you  say  it.  But 
neither  in  the  speeches  to  which  I  have  listened,  nor  in  those 
of  which  I  have  read  abstracts  in  the  daily  papers,  have  I 
known  you  to  express  an  opinion  on  a  question  in  which  we 
are  all  profoundly  interested,  and  which  is  likely  to  have  great 
influence  upon  the  party  in  the  coming  election.  I  wish  to 
ask  you  for  your  opinion  on  the  merits  of  the  strike  now  in 
progress  in  the  city." 

As  the  voice  ceased  a  murmur  ran  through  the  audience,  and 
scattered  cries  of  "  Hear !"  were  heard.  Barry  glanced  at 
Jessie,  and  saw  her  start  and  her  color  heighten  as  she  edged 
herself  still  farther  forward  on  her  seat.  All  eyes  were  now  on 
Marsh.     He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said : 

"The  gentleman  is  quite  right.  I  never  have  referred  to 
the  strike  in  any  of  my  public  utterances.  I  have  not  done  so 
because  it  seems  to  me  that  the  subject  is  entirely  irrelevant. 
The  strike  is  not  a  party  question.  It  is  not  a  national  issue. 
It  is  not  a  State  issue.  It  is  a  question  with  which  Demo- 
crat and  Republican,  as  Democrat  and  Republican,  have  nothing 
to  do.  I  am  speaking,  when  I  speak  in  public,  as  a  member 
of  the  party,  and  neither  the  party,  nor  I  as  a  member  of  it, 
have  any  concern,  publicly,  with  the  difference  between  these 
companies  and  their  men." 

"  But  would  you  mind  telling  us,"  asked  the  voice,  "  what 
your  personal  opinions  are  ?" 

"  Not  in  the  least " — and  Horace  spoke  very  distinctly — "  pro- 
vided that  it  is  clearly  understood  that  I  am  not  speaking  for 
my  party,  nor  as  a  member  of  any  party  ;  I  represent  nobody's 
opinions  on  this  matter  but  my  own.  I  speak  as  a  private  in- 
dividual, for  whose  utterances  no  party  or  man  outside  of  my- 
self is  responsible." 

"  We  understand,"  said  the  voice;  and  a  cry  came  from  the 
back  of  the  hall :  "  Let  us  hear." 

"  Well,"  said  Marsh,  coming  nearer  to  the  footlights,  "speak- 
ing for  myself  and  myself  alone,  I  beg  to  say  that  I  consider 
that  the  strikers  are  wrong  !  They  were  wrong  when  they 
struck,  and  have  grown  more  wrong  every  day."  A  murmur 
of  indignation  arose  from  the  back  of  the  audience,  but  it  was 


300  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

quieted  by  the  shouts  of  "  Sit  still !"  "  Let  him  speak !"  which 
came  from  all  quarters.  "  I  say,"  Marsh  continued,  "  that  the 
men  in  the  mass  were  grievously  misled,  and  that  the  men 
who  misled  them  were  wickedly  to  blame."  As  he  spoke  the 
thought  of  Harrington,  lying  ill  in  the  hospital,  came  to  him, 
and  he  thought  of  Jessie  and  her  anxiety,  and  his  voice  rang 
clearer  as  he  went  on.  "  I  say,  moreover,  that  those  men  will 
suffer  for  it;  in  what  way,  I  know  not — whether  by  the  law 
or  by  their  own  consciences,  or  by  the  public  contempt  which 
in  the  end  will  be  visited  upon  them  ;  but  they  will  suffer,  each 
man  of  them,  in  the  measure  of  all  the  accumulated  suffering 
which  they  have  brought  upon  this  city  and  upon  the  men 
whom  they  led  astray — in  the  measure  of  all  the  hardships  and 
crimes  and  cruelties  which  have  been  inflicted  and  perpetrated 
since  the  strike  began.  They  will  suffer,  and  they  will  deserve 
it!" 

Whether  he  would  have  said  more  is  uncertain.  At  this 
point  the  storm  which  had  been  gathering  at  the  rear  of  the 
hall,  where  a  number  of  strikers  were  collected,  broke  in  a  hur- 
ricane of  hisses  and  shrieks  and  groans.  Here  and  there  cheers 
arose,  but  they  were  few,  and  were  completely  drowned  in  the 
clamor  of  wrath  which  seemed  to  swell  louder  every  second. 
Amid  the  din  words  could  now  and  then  be  caught :  "  Scab  !" 
"  Scab  !"  "  Kill  him  !"  "  Turn  him  out !"  and  the  like.  Jessie 
clutched  the  back  of  the  chair  before  her,  deadly  white.  On 
the  stage  Marsh  stood  unmoved,  also  very  pale,  for  it  was  the 
first  time  that  he  had  faced  a  hostile  audience,  but  waiting 
quietly  for  the  tumult  to  subside.  By  his  side  the  chairman 
was  waving  for  silence.  At  length  the  uproar  sank  sufficiently 
for  the  latter  to  make  himself  partially  audible. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  cried,  "  please  remember  that  this  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  object  for  which  we  are  assembled !" 
Gradually  the  noise  decreased  until  he  could  be  easily  heard. 
"  Bear  in  mind  what  Mr.  Marsh  said  when  he  told  us  that  he 
was  not  speaking  as  a  politician  or  a  public  man  or  a  leader  of 
his  party.  Many  of  us — most  of  us,  I  think — differ  entirely 
from  his  private  sentiments  as  just  expressed."  A  burst  of 
applause  interrupted  him,  and  it  was  some  minutes  before  he 
could  continue.     "  But  whether  we  differ  from  him  or  not  as 


HORACE    PUTS    HIMSELF    ON   RECORD  301 

an  individual,  we  are  all  in  hearty  accord  with  what  he  said 
when  speaking  for  the  party.  It  is  that  which  I  now  ask  you 
to  bear  in  mind  —  the  magnificent  and  patriotic  oration  to 
which  we  have  all  listened — forgetting  entirely  his  later  and 
personal  words,  and,  in  recognition  of  that  oration,  I  now  move 
that  this  meeting  does  by  acclamation  render  to  Mr.  Horace 
Marsh  its  unanimous  thanks  for  the  pleasure  which  he  has  given 
us,  and  the  noble  way  in  which  he  voiced  the  sentiments  and 
set  forth  the  principles  of  the  united  Democratic  party  !" 

From  the  rear  of  the  hall  came  cries,  of  "  No  !  no  !"  but  the 
better  instincts  of  the  greater  part  of  the  audience  responded 
to  the  appeal,  and,  beginning  with  a  scattered  cheer  here  and 
there,  there  gradually  arose  a  roar  of  approval  which,  if  less 
loud  than  the  former  storm  of  antagonism,  was  not  without 
enthusiasm. 

Marsh  bowed  in  acknowledgment,  but  with  downcast  eyes 
and  a  smile  upon  his  lips.  As  he  backed  towards  the  rear  of 
the  stage  the  committee  upon  the  platform  rose  from  their  seats, 
and  from  among  them  Sullivan  came  forward  to  meet  Horace. 
Laying  his  hand  upon  the  young  man's  shoulder,  he  said : 

"  Holy  Moses,  me  lad !  but  if  it  were  not  that  ye  can  spare 
the  party  better  than  the  party  can  spare  ye,  it  would  be  readin' 
yersilf  out  of  the  Dimocracy  entoirely  ye  'Id  be  by  sintiments 
like  them." 

Horace  turned  to  face  the  Irishman  ;  looking  him  in  the  eyes, 
and  with  his  color  rising,  he  said,  simply  : 

"  And  if  the  Democratic  party  wants  any  other  sentiments 
from  me,  the  Democratic  party  can  go  straight  to  hell !" 

And  he  turned  quickly  on  his  heel  and  disappeared  in  the  wings. 

Meanwhile  the  audience  was  dispersing  noisily  and  amid  a 
sputtering  of  hisses  and  groans,  which  still  continued  to  be 
heard  from  various  directions.  On  Barry's  suggestion,  the 
ladies  waited  until  the  hall  was  nearly  empty  before  attempt- 
ing to  leave  their  seats.  On  the  way  home  Miss  Holt  said 
nothing,  while  Barry  and  Miss  Willerby  exchanged  common- 
place remarks  across  the  carriage  about  the  size  of  the  audience 
and  the  character  of  Marsh's  voice  and  style  of  speaking. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  house,  Miss  Holt  asked  Barry  if  he 
would  come  in. 


302  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

11  No,  I  think  not,"  he  said.  Waiting  until  Miss  Willerby 
had  passed  out  of  ear-shot,  he  continued,  "And  what  may  I  tell 
him?     Shall  I  say  that  he  may  come  and  call?" 

Jessie  hesitated  a  moment. 

"No;  tell  him  that  I  will  reply  to  his  note,  which  has  re- 
mained too  long  unanswered.  I  will  write  to  him."  As  she 
gave  Barry  her  hand  she  added,  "  I  may  not  write  at  once ; 
he  may  not  hear  to-morrow.     But  he  will  hear.     Good-night!" 

When  Barry  reached  their  rooms  he  found  Horace  await- 
ing him. 

"  Well  ?"  said  the  latter,  eagerly. 

"  Well  ?"  Barry  replied,  with  unconcern. 

"Did  you  see  her?" 

"  Who  ?" 

"  Why,  Miss  Holt,  you  wretch  !" 

"  Oh  !" — as  if  he  had  forgotten — "  yes.  Oh — yes,  I  saw  her 
all  right !" — and  he  disappeared  into  his  room  to  change  his 
coat. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Marsh,  as  he  came  out  again,  "  don't  be 
a  mule  !     What  did  she  say  ?" 

"Well"  —  and  Barry  filled  his  pipe  deliberately  —  "before 
I  say  a  thing,  I  want  you  to  promise  that  you  will  not  ask 
a  single  question,  but  will  take  just  what  I  choose  to  give 
you." 

"  I  promise.     Go  ahead  !" 

"  She  said — let  me  see,  what  did  she  say  ?" 

"  Oh,  go  ahead  !" 

"  Well,  she  said  that  she  would  write  to  you." 

"When?" 

"  That's  a  question.  You  promised  not  to  ask  questions. 
However,  I'll  answer  it.  Perhaps  not  to-morrow — not  at  once. 
But  she  will  write  to  you.  Your  note  has  remained  too  long 
unanswered." 

And  Barry  threw  himself  on  his  favorite  lounge,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  smoke  in  silence.  Marsh  waited  patiently  for  a  while, 
until  he  could  bear  it  no  longer.  Then  he  came  over  to  where 
his  friend  lay,  and,  kneeling  on  the  floor  at  his  side,  said : 

"  Tell  me  one  thing  more,  old  man — only  one  !  Is  it  well  ? 
Just  tell  me  that." 


HORACE    PUTS    HIMSELF    ON   RECORD  303 

And  Barry  puffed  at  his  pipe,  and  said,  sententiously : 
"  It  is  well." 

As  Marsh  went  back  to  his  seat,  the  hypocrite  on  the  lounge 
rolled  over  and  said,  deliberately  : 

"And  now  tell  me  how  the  meeting  went?'' 


XXIV 

THE    WHIRLIGIG    OF    TIME 

The  influence  which  had  prompted  Miss  Holt  to  tell  Bar- 
ry that  she  might  not  write  to  Horace  at  once  was  a  sud- 
den and  prophetic  prompting  of  a  feeling  which  did  not  at- 
tain its  full  development  until  the  following  day.  For  that 
night  the  conflict  and  turmoil  of  her  emotions  forbade  any 
close  analysis  of  her  sensations.  She  knew  only  that  a  well- 
spring  of  gladness  had  bubbled  up  in  her  heart.  It  was  filled 
as  with  music,  as  of  bird-song  and  of  rippling  water  when 
winter  breaks  suddenly — not  with  happiness  itself,  but  with 
the  hope  and  promise  of  the  summer  days  in  store. 

Horace  had  not  been  the  traitor  that  she  had  supposed. 
She  had  wronged  him.  He  had  never  spoken  the  words  as- 
cribed to  him.  She  even  strove  to  assure  herself  that  in  her 
secret  heart  she  had  known  all  the  time  that  he  was  true. 

So  the  Horace  whom  she  had  believed  to  be  the  real  Horace 
had  been  only  a  thing  of  her  imagination.  Conversely  the 
Horace  of  her  imagining,  the  ideal  Horace,  was  real.  How 
she  had  wished — then,  when  it  was  impossible — that  it  might 
be  so  !  How  gladly,  so  she  said  to  herself,  she  would  give 
her  trust  and — yes,  her  love — to  such  a  man  !  But  lo  !  here 
he  was !     The  prince  was  at  the  door. 

And  that  made  a  difference. 

To  exchange  vows  with  a  fairy  prince  of  one's  own  creation 
was  as  easy  as  telling  confidences  to  the  moon.  But  when 
Romeo  was  listening  beneath  the  balcony — 

"I  should  have  been  more  strange,  I  must  confess, 
But  that  thou  over-heard'st,  ere  I  was  ware, 
My  true  love's  passion.     Therefore,  pardon  me !" 


THE    WHIRLIGIG    OF    TIME  305 

And  now  —  she  knew  it  —  this  Prince  Romeo  was  sitting 
fidgeting  in  his  office,  only  a  mile  or  so  away,  waiting  for  the 
word  which  she  had  bound  herself  to  send  him.  It  must  be 
she  who  must  call  him  to  her.  The  thought  was  intolerable ! 
She  could  never  write  that  letter  —  never,  never!  At  all 
events,  thank  goodness,  she  had  given  herself  one  day's  res- 
pite. So  she  busied  herself  with  her  household  duties,  and 
sang  as  she  did  them. 

It  would  have  comforted  her  much  could  she  have  known 
with  what  discretion  Barry  had  carried  her  message  to  the 
prince.  But  that  she  did  not  know.  Doubtless  they  had 
discussed  it  at  length  ;  Barry  had  put  him  in  possession  of 
all  the  details  of  the  evening's  events — including,  she  fancied, 
clothing  Barry  with  a  gift  of  insight  which  he  did  not  pos- 
sess, many  details  which  had  never  escaped  from  her  own 
breast.  They  had  doubtless  talked  it  over  and  laughed — yes, 
positively  laughed  ! — with  the  accompaniments  of  brandy-and- 
soda  and  tobacco  smoke.  Her  cheeks  burned  as  she  thought 
of  it. 

Meanwhile  the  world  was  glad.  Even  the  sun  shone,  with 
a  last,  false  gleam  of  the  dying  Indian-summer.  Miss  Holt 
could  not  be  sad,  even  in  sympathy  with  Mary  Caley's  statu- 
esque desolation.  That  young  lady  was  bitterly  provoked 
with  herself  for  having  gone  to  bed  when  Barry  was  about  to 
call — or,  rather,  with  Barry,  for  having  called  when  she  had 
retired.  He  must  have  known  that  she  had  retired.  It  was 
evident,  at  least,  that  he  had  been  glad  not  to  see  her,  and 
did  not  care  a  bit  about  her,  or  he  would  have  sent  some  mes- 
sage. Even  Miss  Willerby's  charitable  fib  to  the  effect  that 
he  had  seemed  "  awfully  distressed  "  when  he  had  heard  that 
Miss  Caley  was  indisposed  was  contemptuously  received.  If 
he  had  been  so  distressed,  how  had  he  invited  them  to  go  out 
with  him  so  gayly  ?  And  no  doubt  he  had  flirted  with  one  or 
other  —  probably  both  —  of  them  atrociously.  They  had 
talked  her,  Miss  Caley,  all  over ;  she  knew  it.  If  they  had 
not  wanted  to  talk  her  over,  why  had  they  stolen  off  in  that 
way,  leaving  her  alone  ?  Why  had  they  not  come  and  asked 
her  to  go  with  them  ?  It  would  not  have  taken  her  three 
minutes  to  dress,  and  she  would  have  dearly  loved  to  go.     It 


306  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

was  just  what  she  needed,  and  would  have  done  her  headache 
worlds  of  good.  Those  things  always  did.  Besides,  they 
knew  how  she  longed  to  hear  Mr.  Marsh  talk  and  see  him 
sway  people.     She  just  adored  that  kind  of  thing. 

Altogether  she  had  been  abominably  ill-used.  It  had  been 
a  conspiracy — a  cold,  perfidious  cabal — between  those  three 
from  beginning  to  end.  Barry  bad  probably  been  waiting  on 
the  very  door-step  when  they  had  smuggled  her  off  to  bed,  and 
then  they  had  stolen  away.  And  she  stalked  rigidly  about 
the  house,  clutching  in  her  hands  a  bundle  of  letters,  under- 
stood to  be  those  of  Fred  Jones,  which  she  seated  herself  at 
intervals  in  forlorn  corners  to  read  ostentatiously  and  with 
evident  emotion. 

Jessie  tried  once  in  a  while  to  pet  and  console  her;  but 
her  own  heart  was  too  full  of  her  own  affairs  to  admit  of 
maintaining  a  sustained  strain  of  sympathy.  Besides,  she  was 
well  aware  that  Miss  Caley  would  "  come  round  "  all  right  if 
left  to  herself. 

In  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Jessel  called  for  a  friendly  chat,  and 
Jessie  longed  to  unburden  herself  on  the  other's  good  mother- 
ly bosom.  As  it  was,  Miss  Holt  was  so  transparently  light- 
hearted  that  the  kindly  Mrs.  Jessel  was  perplexed,  and  even 
ventured  some  remote  references  to  Mr.  Blakely.  Of  all  of 
which  Jessie  understood  the  drift  thoroughly,  but  she  only 
laughed  elusively,  and  the  older  woman  was  more  puzzled 
than  before.     It  was  like  conversing  with  a  will-o'-the-wisp. 

Horace  that  morning  took  his  way  to  his  office,  in  eager  hope 
that  possibly  some  word  from  Jessie  might  have  already  ar- 
rived. An  hour  later  he  went  to  the  hospital  to  see  Harring- 
ton, whom  he  found  lying  uneasily  in  his  bandages,  but  con- 
scious and  able  to  talk.  Horace  sat  with  him  for  an  hour,  and 
was  glad  to  learn,  by  cautious  questioning,  that  the  injured 
man  had  no  knowledge  of  the  suspicion  which  hung  over  him. 

Mrs.  Masson  was  to  be  buried  that  afternoon,  and  from  the 
hospital  Horace  went  to  the  house  in  Fourth  Street.  Here, 
however,  he  found  that  Weatherfield  had  taken  everything  in 
hand,  and  that  he  could  be  of  little  use.  So  he  returned  to  his 
office  to  hope  against  hope  that  word  would  come  from  Jessie 
that  day. 


THE    WHIRLIGIG    OF   TIME  307 

The  papers  that  morning  naturally  had  much  to  say  about 
the  dramatic  episode  at  Columbus  Hall.  The  Republican 
organs  belauded  Marsh's  courage,  and  assured  him  that  a 
cordial  welcome  was  awaiting  him  within  that  party  whenever 
he  chose  to  accept  it.  The  World  spoke  with  some  bitter- 
ness of  the  incident — the  bitterness  being  directed,  however, 
less  against  Horace,  who,  the  paper  was  convinced,  would  soon 
see  cause  to  regret  and  change  what  it  could  not  help  regard- 
ing as  the  inconsistency  of  his  opinions  in  the  matter  of  the 
strike,  than  against  the  unknown  individual — an  emissary, 
doubtless,  of  the  Republican  party — who,  by  his  ill-timed  in- 
quiries, had  precipitated  the  catastrophe.  In  all  other  matters 
Mr.-  Marsh,  the  paper  knew,  was  a  good  Democrat,  and  the 
party  could  afford  to  forgive  him  this  one  obliquity. 

Marsh  had  read  the  editorial  lucubrations  with  mingled 
amusement  and  indifference.  To  the  many  acquaintances 
who  spoke  to  him  on  the  street  and  at  his  office  on  the  sub- 
ject he  treated  it  lightly.  His  partner  even  had  taken  the 
matter  more  good-humoredly  than  Marsh  anticipated.  Per- 
haps General  Harter  had  spoken  to  Sullivan,  and  had  imbibed 
the  Irishman's  idea  that  Marsh  could  spare  the  party  better 
than  the  party  could  spare  Marsh.  At  all  events,  he  talked 
to  Horace  in  a  tolerant,  fatherly  way,  as  to  a  young  man  who 
had  committed  an  indiscretion ;  but  a  venial  one — one,  per- 
haps, not  entirely  without  some  element  of  credit  in  it.  The 
General  had  been  in  the  hall — though  declining,  as  he  was 
Marsh's  partner,  to  occupy  a  seat  upon  the  platform — and  he 
generously  complimented  Horace  upon  what  he  was  pleased 
to  call  the  dignity  of  his  bearing  during  those  trying  minutes. 

Altogether  the  incident  did  not  seriously  worry  our  friend. 
It  was  trivial,  everything  was  trivial,  compared  to  the  fact 
that  Jessie  was  going  to  write  to  him — perhaps  already  had 
written  to  him,  and  the  message  might  even  now  be  on  its 
way  to  him.  He  was  still  waiting  for  the  feet  of  him  who 
brought  the  glad  tidings  when  the  clerk  informed  him  that 
"  the  two  Mr.  Pawsons  "  were  in  the  outer  office,  and  wished 
to  see  both  him  and  General  Harter.  By  "  the  two  Mr.  Paw- 
sons"  Horace  knew  that  Franklin  meant  the  editor,  Quintus 
L.  Pawson,  and   his  brother,  Marius  C.  Pawson,  the   lawyer. 


308  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

With  the  latter  Horace  was  already  well  acquainted,  while 
the  editor  he  had  met  but  once,  and  that  formally. 

The  lawyer  entered  first — a  brusque  man  of  decided  move- 
ments, rather  squarely  built,  with  a  ruddy  complexion,  and 
heavy  black  eyebrows  and  side -whiskers.  The  editor,  who 
followed,  was,  though  the  younger,  some  inches  taller  than 
his  brother,  thinner  and  paler  of  face,  and  with  stooping 
shoulders,  telling  of  years  of  drudgery  at  the  night  desk  on 
a  daily  newspaper.  The  same  heavy  black  eyebrows  and  a 
certain  similarity  of  the  line  of  the  hair  as  it  grew  from  the 
forehead  gave  the  two  brothers  the  reputation  of  resembling 
each  other ;  though  here,  when  they  stood  side  by  side,  they 
appeared  but  little  alike. 

"  You  know  my  brother  Quintus,  I  think,  Marsh  ?"  asked 
Marius,  the  lawyer. 

"  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him  only  once,  I 
think,"  said  Horace,  as  he  rose  to  shake  hands  with  his  visitors. 

As  soon  as  they  were  seated  the  lawyer  opened  the  con- 
versation, but  with  evident  embarrassment. 

"  We  have  come  on  a  rather  remarkable  errand,  Marsh," 
he  said.  "It  is  really — er — my  errand  to  General  Harter. 
But  it  happens  to  be  in  connection — er — with  a  matter  to 
which — er — my  brother  was  an  accidental  witness,  so  I  asked 
him  to  accompany  me.  We  want  now — er — another  witness 
to  be  present  with  us  to-day,  a  witness  who  is — er — a  friend 
of  the  General,  and  who — er — knows  him  well,  as  well  as  be- 
ing a  Democrat.  We  decided  that  you  were  the  man  that — 
er — we  wanted.  Would  you — er — mind  coming  in  with  us 
to  the  General's  office,  and — er — being  present  at  what  may 
follow  ?" 

Marsh  was  puzzled.  There  was  an  air  of  formality  about 
the  proceeding  which  was  in  itself  sufficient  to  provoke  curi- 
osity, while  the  hesitation  of  the  ordinarily  fluent,  not  to  say 
reckless-spoken,  lawyer  signified  that  the  matter  in  hand  was 
of  something  more  than  common  moment. 

"  Why,  certainly,"  Horace  said,  in  tones  which  showed  his 
surprise.  "  I  shall  be  delighted  to  be  of  any  use  that  I  can. 
I  ought  to  be  only  too  glad  to  be  invited  into  such  good 
company." 


THE    WHIRLIGIG    OF   TIME  309 

At  the  suggestion  of  the  lawyer  Pawson,  Marsh  went  into 
his  partner's  room,  and  informed  him  that  the  brothers  wished 
to  see  him. 

"  Bring  them  right  in  !"  said  the  General.  So,  returning  to 
the  door,  Horace  signalled  to  the  others  to  enter,  which  they 
did. 

The  General  was  as  genial  as  usual,  but  it  seemed  to  Hor- 
ace that  the  brothers  responded  but  glumly  to  the  cordiality 
of  his  greeting,  and  bore  an  air  of  solemnity,  as  if  they  were 
bearers  of  bad  news,  and  he  grew  uneasy. 

"  Well,  gentlemen  and  brethren,"  said  the  General,  with  a 
certain  magnificent  way  which  he  had  of  making  small  jokes, 
and  which  was  very  effective  with  country  audiences,  "  what 
can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

The  General  sat  in  his  revolving-chair  at  his  desk.  As  he 
spoke  he  looked  alternately  at  the  lawyer  and  the  editor,  who 
were  seated  directly  in  front  of  him.  Marsh  had  taken  a 
chair  beside  the  big  table,  some  paces  farther  away,  to  the 
General's  right. 

"General,"  began  the  lawyer  Pawson,  "I  want  to  ask  you 
a  very  unusual  question.     Would  you  mind  answering  it  ?" 

"  Not  if  I  am  able  to,"  said  the  General,  affably. 

"  Well,  I  want  to  know  exactly  what  it  was  that  killed 
Mrs.  Masson  ?" 

The  question  was  so  absurdly  irrelevant,  addressed  to  Gen- 
eral Harter,  that  Horace's  first  impression  was  that  it  must 
be  intended  for  a  recondite  witticism.  A  glance  at  his  part- 
ner's face,  however,  dispelled  that  idea,  and  Horace  gazed  in 
amazement.  As  the  lawyer's  words  reached  General  Harter's 
ears  it  was  as  if  a  spectre  had  suddenly  appeared  before  him. 
The  blood  fled  from  his  face,  leaving  it  flaccid  and  wrinkled. 
His  figure  seemed  to  shrink  within  itself  in  his  chair.  He 
had  grown  in  a  second  older  by  twenty  years.  When  he 
opened  his  mouth  to  speak  there  came  only  a  strange  noise — 
half  sigh  and  half  hiss.  The  hands  which  rested  on  the 
arms  of  his  chair  twitched  violently.  He  moved  them  and 
clasped  them  together  in  his  lap  as  if  trying  to  keep  them 
still,  but  they  continued  to  jerk  spasmodically,  when  folded, 
with  a  motion  like  that  of  St.-Vitus's-dance. 


310  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

However  irrelevant  and  absurd  the  question  might  seem  to 
Horace,  it  was  evident  that  to  his  partner  it  bore  a  terrible 
significance.     What  was  it  ? 

Seconds — oppressive  seconds — passed  before  at  length  the 
General  gathered  strength  enough  to  speak. 

"  What — what  do  you  mean?"  he  gasped. 

"  I  only  mean  just  what  I  ask,"  replied  Pawson.  "  How 
did  Mrs.  Masson  die  ?  You  will  have  to  tell  us,  General — er 
— Harrington  /" 

The  wrong  name  was  used  with  evident  and  deliberate  in- 
tention. The  emphasis  with  which  the  lawyer  spoke  it  could 
not  have  been  accidental,  and  Marsh  saw,  with  mingled  amaze- 
ment and  horror,  his  partner  bow  his  face  upon  his  hands. 
His  questioner — or  accuser,  rather  —  waited  patiently.  Sud- 
denly the  General  raised  his  head,  and,  reaching  out  his 
hands  appealingly  with  a  gesture  which  included  all  his  au- 
ditors, said,  vehemently : 

"  I  did  not  kill  her !  Before  God,  I  swear  I  did  not  kill 
her !" 

"  Tell  us  about  it,"  said  the  lawyer,  quietly. 

"  She  was  angry,  and  she  stepped  suddenly  towards  me," 
said  the  General,  earnestly.  "  I  do  not  know  whether  it  was 
a  sudden  fit  that  seized  her  or  whether  she  tripped.  But 
she  fell.  She  did  not  say  a  word,  but  simply  fell  backward. 
Her  head  struck  the  mantel.  I  went  to  help  her  up,  and  I 
saw  the  blood  trickling  over  the  tiles.  And  then — then  I 
left  the  house."  His  voice  broke,  and  he  hid  his  face  once 
more.  Then  burst  out  again  :  "  What  could  I  do  ?  I  might 
have  saved  her,  perhaps,  by  calling  help  at  once.  But  how 
could  I  be  found  there  ?  What  was  I  doing  at  her  house  ? 
My  whole  secret  would  have  been  discovered." 

It  was  inexpressibly  pathetic  to  Marsh  to  see  this  man 
whom  he  had  honored  bowing  his  gray  head,  overwhelmed 
with  grief  and  shame.  That  in  the  brief  story  which  he 
had  just  told,  not  without  some  dramatic  gesture,  he  spoke 
the  truth,  Horace  had  no  doubt.  General  Harter  was  not 
guilty  of  murder.  But  what  did  it  all  mean?  What  was 
this  secret?  Why  had  he  been  at  Mrs.  Masson's  house? 
And  why  did  Pawson  call  him  "  Harrington  "  ? 


THE    WHIRLIGIG    OF   TIME  311 

Pawson  meanwhile  drew  from  the  inside  pocket  of  his 
overcoat  a  large  envelope. 

"  You  may,"  he  said,  "  wish  to  know  how  I  came  to  learn  so 
much.  It  was  quite  by  accident."  Removing  the  outer  en- 
velope from  the  package  in  his  hand,  he  held  a  small  bundle 
of  letters,  frayed  and  discolored,  tied  up  crosswise  with  a 
piece  of  red  twine  —  evidently  their  older  fastening  —  and 
again  held  together  with  a  rubber  band,  which  had  presuma- 
bly been  more  recently  added. 

"  «  Not  to  be  opened  until  I  am  dead ' — signed  *  Honoria 
Masson,'  "  he  read  from  some  writing  which  was  on  a  strip 
of  paper  which  encircled  the  bundle.  Removing  this  slip, 
with  the  string  and  the  band  which  enclosed  it,  he  read  from 
a  loose  half-sheet  of  note-paper  which  lay  folded  on  the  top 
of  the  letters :  " '  General  William  Harter  will  pay  five 
hundred  dollars  apiece  for  these  letters.'  " 

Marsh  looked  again  at  his  partner,  and  saw  a  tear  ooze 
through  the  fingers  in  which  his  face  was  hidden. 

"  These  letters,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  were  brought  to  my 
office  by  Mrs.  Masson  one  day  some  months  ago,  when  it 
happened  that  my  brother  was  present.  She  came  to  me  be- 
cause I  happened  to  have  been  the  attorney  in  settling  up 
her  last  husband's  affairs.  She  told  me  not  to  open  the 
package  until  she  was  dead.  I  had  no  idea  what  the  pack- 
age contained,  and  put  it  away  in  my  vault,  scarcely  giving 
it  another  thought.  Once  again  she  came  in  and  undid  the 
package  in  my  presence,  and  added  another  letter — this  one," 
touching  the  top  one  with  his  finger — "to  those  which  I  now 
for  the  first  time  saw  that  the  bundle  contained.  I  do  not 
think  the  matter  entered  my  mind  again  until  I  read  of  her 
death.  Last  night  I  took  the  package  home  with  me  to  read 
at  night,  so  as  not  to  waste  time  during  the  day.  I  had 
very  little  idea  of  the  surprise  that  was  in  store  for  me." 

The  lawyer  paused,  and,  running  over  the  letters  with  his 
fingers,  selected  one  which  looked  very  old  and  worn.  "  This 
letter,"  Pawson  continued,  as  he  opened  it  and  read  the  date- 
line, "  was  written  nearly  twenty  years  ago.  At  that  time 
she  was  a  widow — Mrs.  Brady.  You  call  her  only  '  Honoria.' 
I  did  not  know  that  you  had  ever  lived  in  Freehold,  New  Jer- 


312  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

sey,  General ;  but  that  is  where  this  letter,  as  were  most  of 
the  others,  was  written.  Mrs.  Brady  lived  there  also.  You 
sign  yourself  here  '  William  Harrington.'  There  are  a  dozen 
or  more  letters  signed  that  way  —  all  within  the  space  of  a 
few  months.  Then  comes  a  break  of  a  year,  and  the  next 
letter  is  written  from  Detroit  —  still  to  her  at  Freehold.  But 
you  sign  yourself  "  —  Pawson  had  been  turning  over  the 
papers  as  he  spoke,  as  if  looking  for  one  in  particular  ;  find- 
ing it,  he  turned  to  the  signature — "  simply  '  W.  H.'  There 
are  three  letters  from  Detroit.  I  read  them  all  last  night. 
In  the  last  you  say  that  you  do  not  like  the  place,  and  are 
going  West.  Between  that  and  the  next  letter,"  and  he 
opened  another,  is  "  a  gap  of  seventeen  years.  That  brings 
us  to  less  than  two  years  ago,  when,  of  course,  you  were 
living  here.  There  are  two  letters  since  that  one — one  writ- 
ten only  six  weeks  ago,  after  your  nomination  for  the  gov- 
ernorship, to  which  you  refer  in  the  letter.  These  last  let- 
ters, like  those  from  Detroit,  are  signed  '  W.  H.'  " 

Gradually  an  outline  of  the  facts  was  dawning  upon  Marsh. 
Evidently  his  partner's  name  had  once  been  Harrington,  and 
Horace  now  remembered  how  little  he  or  any  one  else  knew 
of  the  General's  early  life.  Evidently  the  General  and  Mrs. 
Masson  had  known  each  other  well  in  the  old  days,  and  Hor- 
ace recollected  that  in  the  report  of  the  inquest  there  had 
been  a  mention  made  in  somebody's  testimony  (was  it  not 
Miss  Masson's  ?)  of  a  picture  of  Mrs.  Masson  taken  years  ago, 
in  which  she  was  shown  to  have  been  a  beautiful  woman. 
And  suddenly,  thinking  of  the  inquest,  those  last  words  of 
the  dead  woman,  about  which  so  much  had  been  said  and 
conjectured,  came  to  his  mind  :  "  Where  is  he  ?  Has  Har- 
rington gone  ?"  In  her  last  delirious  moments  her  memory 
had  taken  up  again  the  name  by  which  she  had  known  him 
well  in  the  old  days. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  General,  rousing  himself,  as  if  to  face  the 
worst,  "  the  story  is  all  there  in  those  dates  and  signatures. 
I  am  William  Harrington.  Your  friend,  Marsh  —  the  one 
who  is  now  in  the  hospital  —  must  be  some  sort  of  a  cousin 
or  nephew  of  mine.  I  come  from  your  part  of  the  country, 
in  Massachusetts.     That  was  one  of  the  tbino-s  which  drew 


THE    WHIRLIGIG    OF   TIME  313 

me  to  you,  I  think.  I  have  never  dared  to  go  back  there, 
not  for  twenty  years,  lest  some  one  should  recognize  me. 
But  I  have  so  often  longed  to  ask  you  about  old  people  and 
places  there  !  I  left  there  when  I  was  eighteen  and  went  to 
Boston,  where  I  only  stayed  for  three  years.  For  the  next 
five  I  wandered  a  good  deal,  chiefly  in  New  England,  and 
finally  drifted  to  New  York,  and  thence  to  Freehold.  I  lived 
there  for  nearly  four  years.  It  was  in  my  last  year  that  I 
met  Mrs.  Brady,  and  fell  in  love  with  her.  I  trust  you  will 
believe,  gentlemen,  that  there  was  nothing  wrong  in  our  rela- 
tions. There  was  not.  I  intended  to  marry  her.  We  were 
then  both  about  thirty  years  of  age  ;  and  if  I  could  have 
afforded  it  I  would  have  married  at  once.  But  I  was  poor, 
and  had  hard  times  to  get  along.  It  was  out  of  my  poverty 
that  grew  the  thing  which  ruined  me.  I  was  honest,  or 
meant  to  be,  but  I  was  in  debt,  and  the  debt  grew  larger 
every  month.  My  practice  was  small,  and  I  am  by  nature 
incapable  of  economy.  Finally  I  owed  everybody  in  town 
money — small  amounts.  The  whole  of  my  obligations  did 
not  reach  seven  hundred  dollars.  But  I  saw  no  way  to  pay 
even  that ;  and  I  was  being  dunned — dunned  for  humiliating 
sums — until  at  last  I  grew  wild  and — disappeared  !  It  was  a 
hopeless  mistake.  I  ought  to  have  lived  on  there,  and  fouo-ht 
it  through  somehow — at  least,  if  I  went,  I  should  have  gone 
openly,  and  with  my  creditors'  consent.  But  I  was  inex- 
perienced in  business.  I  had  not  the  courage  to  face  the 
music,  and  I  fled — just  ran  away.  I  always  intended  to  pay 
every  cent  as  soon  as  I  had  the  money ;  but  I  thought  if  I 
stopped  to  tell  my  creditors  so  that  they  would  make  trouble. 
So  I  just  left  everything  and  struck  West." 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  sat  drumming  on  the  desk  with 
his  fingers,  while  his  mind  wandered  back  over  those  old, 
thorny  paths. 

"  Changing  my  name,"  he  resumed  —  "  that  was  another 
bad  mistake.  My  idea  at  the  time  was  only  to  lose  my 
identity  for  a  while  until  in  some  way  I  could  make  enough 
to  pay  my  debts  and  go  back  to  Freehold.  But  I  had  hard 
work  to  earn  a  living.  In  Detroit  I  failed  to  get  a  footing, 
and  wandered  on   to  the   Pacific   slope,  and  thence   drifted 


314  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

back  here.  Meanwhile  I  was  making  acquaintances,  and 
making  them  under  my  new  name.  Then  I  took  to  politics. 
The  rubbing  against  people  of  all  classes  and  different  sec- 
tions of  the  country  gave  me  a  certain  facility  in  making 
friends — taught  me  how  to  get  along  in  any  company  in 
which  I  found  myself.  That  helped  me  to  come  to  the 
front  in  politics ;  but  it  did  not  bring  me  money.  I  am  not 
over-scrupulous,  perhaps,  in  some  ways,  and  am  willing  to 
wink  at  other  men's  dishonesty  for  the  party's  sake  ;  but  I 
am  afraid  that  I  have  always  been  too  honest — or  too  coward- 
ly, it  may  be,  when  it  came  to  making  money  for  myself — 
to  get  rich.  Not  until  the  last  two  or  three  years  could  I 
ever  at  one  time  have  commanded  seven  hundred  dollars  of 
spare  money.  I  am  incapable  of  living  within  my  means. 
Moreover,  in  ten  and  fifteen  and  twenty  years  the  conscience 
rusts.  The  old  debts  in  Freehold  troubled  me  more  rarely 
as  time  went  on,  and  there  stood  always  in  the  way  of  my 
paying  them  some  uncertainty  how  to  do  it  without  disclos- 
ing my  identity.  I  always  meant  to  pay ;  but  after  so  many 
years  what  especial  hurry  was  there?  And  how  could  I  put 
into  the  hands  of  my  enemies  a  clew  to  my  past  ?  Once  the 
debts  were  paid,  there  would  really  have  been  little  enough 
to  be  ashamed  of.  But  of  a  politician  in  my  position,  who 
will  believe  that  he  had  changed  his  name  and  lived  for 
twenty  years  a  life  of  deception  without  some  good  reason  ? 
The  discovery  would  have  damned  me  forever.  So  time  went 
on,  and  William  Harrington,  I  believed,  was  dead  forever. 
Then  this  woman  recognized  me.  What  chance  brought  her 
here  to  live  I  do  not  know,  but  she  saw  me  on  the  streets  and 
wrote  to  me.  I  had  changed,  it  seemed,  in  appearance  less 
than  I  had  supposed  —  certainly  less  than  she  had,  for  I 
should  never  have  recognized  her.  She  wrote  to  me,  and  I 
went  to  see  her.  She  had  kept  my  letters — for  love,  she 
said ;  but  now  she  used  them  only  as  a  means  for  extorting 
money.  She  had  me  in  her  power.  My  election  to  the  gov- 
ernorship promised  me  relief.  Then  I  would  be  able  to  buy 
those  miserable  documents  from  her,  and,  as  she  has  written 
there,  I  was  to  do  so  at  the  rate  of  five  hundred  dollars  a  let- 
ter.    For  ten  thousand  dollars  I  was  to   have  them  all.     I 


THE    WHIRLIGIG    OF   TIME  315 

have  only  seen  her  to  speak  to  three  times  since  she  came  to 
the  city  —  that  time  when  I  received  her  first  letter,  once 
again  some  months  ago,  and  then  the  other  night.  I  went 
there  to  make  one  last  effort  to  get  those  things.  I  have 
had  any  number  of  letters  from  her — of  late  very  many,  and 
they  seemed  to  me  hardly  to  be  the  productions  of  a  sane 
person.  I  think  she  was  mad  that  night.  There  had  been 
hanofincr  over  me  for  weeks  a  constant  terror  lest  in  some 
frenzy  she  should  make  the  secret  public  before  Election  Day. 
At  last  the  load  grew  intolerable,  and  I  went  to  endeavor  to 
persuade  her  to  give  me  the  documents  in  exchange  for  notes 
— notes  which  I  had  already  arranged  with  a  third  party, 
who  was  willing  to  trust  me  without  my  telling  him  for  what 
the  notes  were  needed,  to  make  out  in  his  favor  and  have 
him  indorse.  But  she  would  not  listen.  She  would  hardly 
permit  me  to  talk,  but  raved  with  the  ravings  of  a  maniac. 
It  was  hopeless,  I  saw,  and  was  about  to  leave.  I  was  already 
walking  to  the  door  when  she  took  those  steps  forward — I 
can  see  her  now  with  her  wrinkled  face  (to  think  that  that 
face  was  the  face  of  Honoria  Brady  !)  and  her  eyes  glowing, 
her  two  clinched  hands,  raised  on  either  side  of  her  head, 
shaking  with  her  wrath,  while  her  shrill  voice  rang  so  loud 
that  it  seemed  that  passers-by  on  the  street  must  hear.  Sud- 
denly she  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  —  I  think  the 
intensity  of  her  anger  choked  her — and  she  fell." 

When  the  General  finished  his  story,  for  a  while  no  one 
spoke.  Marius  Pawson  began  deliberately  tying  the  fatal 
documents  together  again  with  the  scrap  of  red  string.  He 
snapped  the  rubber  band  around  them,  and  replaced  them  in 
their  envelope.  Then  the  General,  with  a  new  sound  of  hope 
in  his  voice,  asked  : 

"  Can  I  have  them  now  V 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  replied  the  other.  "  You  see  that  they 
are  part  of  the  estate  of  the  deceased,  and  were  confided  to 
me.  She  regarded  them  as  a  valuable  asset ;  they  are  the 
property  of  her  heirs  now.  I  can  only  turn  them  over  to  her 
step-daughters." 

:i  But  now  that  the  secret  is  known  only  to  you  three,  and 
she,  the  only  person  to  whom  it  was  of  importance,  is  dead  ?" 


316  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

"  That  does  not  matter.  It  may  be  that  now  you  would  not 
buy  these  letters  ;  it  may  be  that  you  would.  But  whether 
they  have  any  real  value  or  not  is  not  for  me  to  judge.  They 
are  in  my  hands  in  trust,  and  I  must  give  them  to  the  heirs. 
You  know  that  yourself." 

Again  there  was  silence,  until  Marius  Pawson  rose,  and, 
clasping  his  hands  behind  his  back,  set  himself  to  pacing  up 
and  down  the  room. 

"  You  see,  General,"  he  said,  as  he  walked,  "  the  trouble  is 
here :  This  other  Harrington,  who  is  in  the  hospital,  is  sus- 
pected of  having  murdered  her.  On  the  evidence  now  before 
the  public  there  is  a  very  good  chance  of  his  being  convicted 
and  hanged.  But  whether  he  would  be  convicted  or  not  is 
immaterial.  The  suspicion  must  be  removed  from  him.  The 
facts  must  be  known.  My  brother  and  I  have  twisted  it  every 
way,  and  there  is  no  way  to  clear  him  and  do  right  except  by 
telling  the  whole  story." 

"  And  my  candidacy  ?"  faltered  the  General. 

It  was  the  editor  who  replied  to  this  question. 

"  You  must  withdraw,"  he  said.  "  There  is  no  other  way. 
As  Marius  says,  we  have  turned  the  situation  every  way,  and 
the  facts  must  come  out.  The  idea  of  your  remaining  the  can- 
didate for  governor  is  out  of  the  question.  It  would  kill  the 
party,  as  well  as  yourself,  forever." 

"  And  are  all  these  years  that  I  have  lived  here — all  these 
twenty  years,  in  which  I  have  lived  blamelessly  among  you, 
and  in  which  I  have  worked  so  hard  for  everything  that  I  have 
won — are  they  going  to  count  for  nothing  ?" 

"  They  will  count  for  much,"  replied  the  editor. 

"  Would  you  have  me  go  elsewhere  and  start  life  again — 
now  ?"  the  General  asked,  piteously.  "  Shall  I  take  another 
name  ?" 

"  You  have  done  that  once,"  said  the  editor,  "  and  say  your- 
self that  it  was  a  fatal  mistake.  Stay  right  here — here,  where 
you  have  the  twenty  years  of  blameless  living  to  your  credit. 
Live  it  down.  You  may  never  be  candidate  for  governor 
again,  but  the  story  will  soon  be  forgotten,  and  a  year  from  now, 
though  conspicuous  public  office  may  be  impossible  for  you, 
you  will  find  that  you  are  as  much  respected  as  you  are  to-day." 


THE    WHIRLIGIG    OF    TIME  317 

"  My  brother  is  right,"  said  the  elder  Pawson.  "  The  frank, 
straight  way  is  the  only  one  worth  taking.  Resume  your  name 
of  Harrington  if  you  will — or  comply  with  the  legal  formali- 
ties to  make  Harter  your  real  name.  But  let  the  story  be 
told  clearly,  and  then  go  on  living  as  you  have  done.  You  will 
find  in  a  few  months  that  you  have  lifted  a  terrible  weight 
from  your  life  and  from  your  conscience.  You  will  be  hap- 
pier than  you  have  been  for  twenty  years." 

"  The  plan  that  we  had  outlined,"  resumed  the  editor,  "  is 
that  you  should  write  your  resignation  at  once — to-night,  if 
possible.  There  are  only  a  few  days  to  election,  and  justice 
to  the  party  demands  that  we  should  have  our  new  man  in  the 
field  at  once.  Justice  to  this  other  Harrington  is  not  so  ur- 
gent. While  he  is  in  the  hospital  and  ignorant,  as  I  under- 
stand he  is,  of  the  suspicion  which  hangs  over  him,  the  suspi- 
cion will  do  no  especial  harm.  But  that  is  a  matter  for  your 
choice — you  can  tell  your  story  at  once  or  you  can  tell  it  later, 
after  election.  When  you  do  tell  it,  you  can  place  it  before 
the  people  in  such  a  way  as  you  please.  We  three  in  this 
room  are  good  enough  friends  to  you  to  keep  secret  what  has 
passed  here  to-day.  As  for  the  newspapers,  I  can  answer  for 
them — for  others  besides  my  own.  The  press  will  be  generous 
enough  to  you  when  you  are  no  longer  an  object  of  partisan 
hostility.  You  will  be  telling  the  tale  from  the  spontaneous 
promptings  of  your  own  conscience.  It  need  not  be  said  that 
you  were  discovered.  It  was  your  own  innate  sense  of  justice 
which  made  you,  to  save  an  innocent  man,  throw  away  your 
brilliant  prospects,  abandon  your  career,  and  voluntarily  expose 
the  secret  of  your  life  to  the  public  eye.  It  will  be  almost 
heroic.  You  will  find  that  you  will  get  only  eulogy  for  your 
unselfishness  from  the  press  and  only  praise  from  your  friends. 
It  will  show  a  high  sense  of  honor  in  you,  and,  as  a  private 
citizen,  it  will  do  you  good  in  everybody's  estimation." 

The  General  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hands  and  remained 
sunk  in  thought. 

"  It  is  bitter,"  he  said,  at  length — "  very  bitter.  At  least,  let 
me  have  until  to-morrow.  I  am  in  no  frame  to  write  my  letter 
of  withdrawal  to-night." 

"  But  to-morrow,"  said  Marius,  "  it  must  be.     Between  now 


318  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

and  then  you  can  go  over  the  matter  in  your  own  mind,  and  I 
know  you  will  reach  the  same  conclusion  as  we  have  come  to. 
There  is  no  other  way." 

The  editor  rose  and  buttoned  up  his  coat,  standing  beside 
his  brother.  Marsh  also  got  up.  The  three  stood  for  a  min- 
ute and  looked  in  pity  at  the  old  man  with  his  gray  head 
bent  upon  his  hands.  Then  the  two  brothers  silently  with- 
drew. Horace  advanced  and  placed  his  hand  upon  his  part- 
ner's shoulder. 

"  I  am  sorry,  General,"  he  said,  softly — "  more  sorry  than  I 
can  say.     I  will  help  you  in  any  way  I  can." 

The  shoulder  on  which  his  hand  rested  shook  with  a  sud- 
den convulsive  sob.  Horace  pressed  it  gently,  and,  treading 
stealthily,  left  the  room,  closing  the  door  carefully  behind 
him. 

In  his  own  office  the  brothers  were  awaiting  him,  and  the 
three  stood  and  gazed  out  of  the  window  in  silence,  as  men 
may  who  come  out  of  the  presence  of  death.  From  beyond 
the  closed  door  the  sound  of  sobbing  came  to  them,  and  broken 
groans  as  of  a  man  in  mortal  agony. 

"  We  are  obliged  to  you  for  coming,  Marsh,"  said  the  elder 
Pawson.  "It  seemed  to  us  both  that  you  were  the  right 
man." 

"  I  suppose  I  was,"  Marsh  answered,  wistfully. 

The  brothers  prepared  to  go.  With  an  air  of  forced 
gayety,  the  editor  spoke  : 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  have  met  you  again,  Mr.  Marsh.  It  is 
needless  to  say  that  I  am  familiar  enough  with  your  doings 
and  sayings." 

"  Yes,"  Horace  said,  "  and  that  reminds  me  that  I  have  a 
bone  to  pick  with  you." 

"  Is  it  a  large  bone  ?" 

"  It  seemed  large  at  the  time,"  Horace  answered.  "  I  made 
a  speech  at  Jackson  a  few  weeks  ago,  and  you,  in  your  paper, 
misrepresented  me  atrociously.  Not  only  was  the  report  of 
the  speech  erroneous,  but  you  published  a  long  editorial  that 
was  incomparably  worse  than  any  inaccuracies  in  the  report — 
an  editorial  in  which  you  imputed  to  me  all  manner  of  senti- 
ments on  the  subject  of  the  strike,  which  I  not  only  never 


THE    WHIRLIGIG    OF    TIME  319 

expressed,  but  which  were  totally  different  from  any  which  I 
have  ever  entertained."  Marsh  spoke  hotly,  as  the  recollec- 
tion of  the  wrong  revived  in  him  and  smarted.  "  It  happens 
that  I  was  compelled  last  night  to  say  some  things  which 
have  put  my  record  straight,  I  suppose.  But  it  was  an  un- 
warrantable thing  of  you,  or  the  World,  to  do  at  the  time." 

The  editor  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  asked,  in  a 
curious  tone : 

"  Do  you  know  who  wrote  that  article  ?" 

"  I  always  supposed  that  you  did." 

"  General  Harter  wrote  it,"  said  Pawson,  very  slowly  and 
distinctly. 

« who  r 

"  I  beg  his  pardon,  General  Harrington,"  Pawson  replied, 
calmly. 

"  There  is  some  mistake  here,"  said  Marsh.  "  We  are  speak- 
ing of  different  articles.  The  article  that  I  mean  I  called  to 
the  General's  attention  when  I  returned  home  myself  next 
day,  and  We  had  quite  a  talk  about  it.  He  had  hardly  noticed 
it  before." 

"  That  is  quite  interesting,"  remarked  Pawson. 

"  The  article  that  I  mean,"  resumed  Horace,  "  was  in  refer- 
ence to  a  speech  which  I  delivered  at  Jackson  on — let  me 
see — the  3d  of  last  month.  There  was  an  idiot  called  Dal- 
las-^you  know  him,  '  Poker  Dallas ' — who  was  chairman  of 
the  meeting.  When  I  had  finished  he  made  some  remarks, 
and  his  remarks  did  bear  upon  the  strike.  In  your  report 
you  got  his  remarks  and  mine  mixed,  and  in  your  editorial 
you  spoke  of  the  scathing  way  in  which  I  had  denounced 
the  street-railway  company — and  all  manner  of  trash,  which 
I  never  said." 

"  That's  the  same  article,"  said  Pawson.  "  General  Harter, 
as  he  was  then,  wrote  that." 

"  You  are  joking." 

"  No,  I  am  not.     Ask  Sullivan  !" 

"  Ask  whom  ?" 

11  Sullivan— Timothy  Sullivan—4  Holy  Moses '  Sullivan." 

"  Why,  I  did.  I  talked  it  over  with  Sullivan  that  same  af- 
ternoon. I  discussed  the  propriety  of  writing  to  you  about  it — " 


320  MEN    BORN   EQUAL 

"  And  he  stopped  you  ?"  asked  Pawson. 

"  Yes,  he  did.  Why,  he  said  he  would  speak  to  you  about 
it.     Didn't  he  do  it  ?" 

"Yes.  He  said  that  the  lad — that  was  you — didn't  like 
it.  You  did  not  mind  it  for  once,  when  it  was  necessary  for 
the  sake  of  the  party ;  but  that  in  future  I  must  be  very  care- 
ful to  let  the  public  know  that  you  did  not  speak  about  the 
strike.  I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Marsh,"  and  the  editor  sat  down  to 
speak,  "  I  had  my  compunctions  at  the  time.  But  it  was  all 
cut  and  dried  in  advance.  The  strike,  you  know,  was  practi- 
cally decided  upon  that  day,  and  the  party  leaders  determined 
that  it  was  to  be  an  issue  in  the  campaign — the  issue.  The 
position  had  to  be  taken  at  once.  So  Dallas  was  telegraphed 
to  that  afternoon,  and  told  what  he  was  to  say.  That  article 
must  have  been  written  before  your  speech  was  delivered. 
The  General  brought  it  up  to  me  early  in  the  evening.  He 
came  in  again  with  Sullivan  about  twelve  o'clock,  and  read  it 
over  to  us  aloud  from  the  proof.  Sullivan  suggested  some 
changes — put  in  an  epithet  or  two.  Can't  you  recognize 
Sullivan's  epithets  ?  I  can.  If  there  was  only  one  in  a  column, 
I  could  pick  it  out.  Well,  as  I  say,  I  had  scruples  at  the 
time,  and  asked  them  how  you  would  take  it.  I  did  not 
know  you  and  they  did,  and  when  they  told  me  that  you 
would  not  mind,  why,  I  took  their  word  for  it." 

Horace  pondered,  and  he  remembered  the  General's  man- 
ner when  Horace  had  called  his  attention  to  the  article.  He 
remembered  what  Sullivan  had  said,  and  how  plausibly  he 
had  argued  on  the  exigencies  of  the  party's  welfare.  He 
remembered  what  the  Irishman  had  told  him  of  his  own 
impressions  on  reading  the  article  that  morning,  and  how 
Pawson  could  not  appreciate  him — Horace  Marsh. 

"  I  think,"  Horace  said  at  last,  "  that  this  is  even  more 
amazing  than  what  has  been  going  on  in  there,"  indicating 
his  partner's  room.  "  Sullivan  said  that  you  were  a  blather- 
ing idiot  for  having  written  that." 

"  Quite  possibly,"  said  Pawson.  "  Sullivan  is,  I  think,  the 
best  liar  that  we  have  in  the  party.  He  is  by  all  odds  the 
best  politician." 


XXV 


A    TRIP    TO    THE    CEMETERY 


In  making  the  arrangements  for  Mrs.  Masson's  funeral,  the 
detail  which  Weatherfield  found  most  troublesome  was  the 
handling  of  Wollmer.  The  labor  leader  was  officious  to  ob- 
trusiveness.  Weatherfield  could  not  well  reject  bluntly  the 
services  of  the  man  who,  besides  having  been  the  only  male 
inmate  of  Mrs.  Masson's  household  for  many  months,  had  un- 
deniably been  the  dead  woman's  closest  friend  during  the  last 
days  of  her  life.  On  the  other  hand,  Weatherfield  himself  dis- 
liked Wollmer,  and  Jennie  frankly  expressed  her  wish  that  the 
labor  leader  should  have  no  voice  in  the  arrangements.  The 
printer  did  his  best  to  listen  to  the  other's  numerous  sugges- 
tions with  patience,  and  to  decline  his  offers  of  assistance  with- 
out giving  offence.  But,  with  all  his  slowness  to  anger,  even 
Weatherfield's  forbearance  was  sorely  tried  when  Wollmer  un- 
folded a  project  for  making  the  funeral  procession  an  excuse 
for  a  public  demonstration  in  behalf  of  the  cause  of  labor.  On 
this  subject  words  ran  high  between  them.  Finally,  Wollmer, 
apparently  consenting  to  abandon  his  original  plan  for  a  grand 
marshalling  of  all  the  allied  forces  of  the  strikers  on  the  road 
to  the  cemetery,  promised  to  confine  the  deputation  to  partici- 
pate in  the  ceremony  to  the  officers  of  the  several  unions  only. 
With  this  concession  Weatherfield  deemed  it  best  to  seem  con- 
tent. 

The  services  at  the  home  on  Fourth  Street  were  brief;  but 
while  they  were  in  progress  a  large  crowd  of  idlers  assembled 
in  the  street,  bent  on  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  casket  contain- 
ing the  body  of  the  woman  the  manner  of  whose  death  had 
become  so  notorious.  When  the  cortege  started  on  the  long 
march  to  the  cemetery,  which  lay  in  the  northwestern  part  of 


322  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

the  city,  it  consisted  of  five  vehicles  only  in  addition  to  the 
hearse.  The  two  sisters  occupied  one  carriage,  and  Weather- 
field  and  the  minister  another,  the  remaining  three  containing 
the  officers  of  the  labor  organizations. 

In  their  carriage,  over  the  windows  of  which  the  shades  were 
drawn  close,  the  girls  sat  in  silence,  each  too  sadly  preoccupied 
to  give  thought  to  anything  that  might  be  passing  without. 
From  the  next  carriage  Weatherfield  looked  listlessly  at  the 
people  standing  on  the  sidewalk  to  see  the  funeral  pass;  but 
they  had  gone  but  a  short  distance  when  he  saw  that  which 
filled  him  with  bitterness  against  Wollmer. 

A  large  body  of  men  stood  in  orderly  ranks,  drawn  up  by 
the  sidewalk.  They  waited  with  bared  heads  as  the  hearse 
and  the  carriages  containing  the  mourners  passed,  and  a  min- 
ute later  Weatherfield  heard  the  word  of  command  given,  and, 
looking  through  the  small  oval  window  in  the  back  of  the  car- 
riage, saw  the  company  falling  in  to  join  in  the  march.  A  little 
farther  on  the  same  thing  was  repeated,  and  again  and  again  at 
other  points  along  the  route.  The  companies,  composed  evi- 
dently of  strikers,  varied  in  size  from  bodies  of  fifty  to  those  of 
three  hundred  or  four  hundred  men.  As  his  carriage  turned 
a  corner,  still  a  mile  away  from  the  cemetery,  Weatherfield, 
looking  backward,  could  see  a  solid  column  of  figures  stretching 
almost  as  far  as  his  eye  could  reach. 

At  the  cemetery  the  girls  left  their  carriage  and  walked  with 
downcast  eyes  across  the  grass  to  the  side  of  the  newly  made 
grave.  It  was  not  until,  when  the  coffin  had  been  lowered  and 
the  last  words  said,  they  turned  to  go  back  to  the  carriage  that 
they  became  aware  of  the  crowd,  numbering  over  two  thousand 
men,  which  had  followed  them.  Sidling  up  to  Weatherfield, 
AVollmer  said,  in  a  low  voice : 

"  I  could  not  help  it.     I  told  them  not  to  come." 

But  Weatherfield  only  shut  his  lips  and  walked  on. 

The  men  did  not  return  with  the  carriages  to  the  city.  On 
the  contrary,  the  three  last  vehicles,  which  had  each  held  four 
men  on  the  outward  journey,  contained  now  but  two  apiece, 
the  others  having  stayed  with  the  strikers  at  the  cemetery.  Al- 
most before  the  carriages  were  out  of  sight,  Wollmer's  lieuten- 
ant, Henderson,  had  mounted  one  of  the  small  seats  which  were 


A   TEIP   TO   THE    CEMETERY  323 

scattered  through  the  cemetery  and  was  addressing  the  assem- 
bled throng.  Nothing  was  said  inciting  directly  to  acts  of  vio- 
lence; nor  was  there  any  demonstration  which  could  be  called 
unseemly  in  those  solemn  precincts.  Rehearsing  again  the  cir- 
cumstances of  Mrs.  Masson's  death,  as  the  strikers  understood 
them,  Henderson  paid  a  tribute  in  not  ill-chosen  words  to  the 
faithfulness  and  courage  of  their  dead  champion.  When  weak 
women,  he  said,  enfeebled  with  age  and  with  no  self-interest 
nor  any  motive  but  their  own  love  of  justice  to  bind  them  to 
the  cause,  could  thus  face  death  for  its  sake,  it  was  not  likely 
that  they — strong  men  whose  living  and  the  livelihood  of  whose 
families  depended  on  their  success — would  weaken  or  prove 
recreant.  In  his  closing  words  he  spoke  bitterly  of  the  tyranny 
of  capital  and  of  the  wrongs  of  labor  ;  but  only  in  generality,  and 
with  a  certain  soberness  and  self-restraint.  The  men  listened 
in  silence,  and  refrained  from  any  applause  as  he  ceased  speak- 
ing. Then,  falling  again  into  their  ranks,  each  detachment  un- 
der command  of  its  appointed  leader,  they  started  in  resolute 
sullenness  on  the  march  towards  the  city. 

They  did  not  take  the  same  route  as  they  had  followed 
coming  out,  and  which  the  carriages  had  again  chosen  on  going 
home ;  but,  striking  eastward,  they  came  in  less  than  a  mile 
to  where  the  deserted  works  of  the  iron -and -steel  company 
stood  silent  and  forbidding. 

As  they  drew  away  from  the  cemetery  the  sobering  influence 
of  the  presence  of  the  dead  wore  off,  and  the  army  grew  less 
orderly  and  more  demonstrative.  The  men  shouted  and 
laughed  one  to  another,  and  bandied  jokes  with  passers-by 
upon  the  sidewalks.  Flasks  and  bottles,  which  had  hitherto 
been  concealed  in  pockets,  made  their  appearance  and  passed 
from  hand  to  hand.  About  half-way  to  the  iron-and- steel 
company's  plant  the  procession  halted  in  front  of  a  clump  of 
saloons  and  beer-halls  until  every  man  had  had  something  to 
drink  and  the  flasks  and  bottles  had  been  replenished.  When 
the  works  were  reached  the  men  howled  and  shouted  curses  at 
the  frowning  buildings. 

"  Pull  down  the  fence !"  cried  a  voice,  and  immediately  a 
thousand  men  had  left  the  roadway  and  were  grappling  with 
the  gray,  weather-stained  boards,  some  five  feet  high,  which 


324  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

encircled  the  iron-and-steel  company's  property.  The  barrier 
swayed  and  wavered  under  the  weight  of  the  bodies  of  the 
men  against  it.  There  was  a  sharp  report  as  it  yielded,  first  at 
a  point  near  the  centre,  and  a  second  later,  amid  the  sound  of 
splintering  wood  and  the  mingled  cheers  and  hoots  of  the 
men,  the  entire  stretch  of  some  two  hundred  yards  of  fence 
lay  flat  upon  the  ground.  Here  and  there  a  post,  more  deeply 
rooted  than  its  fellows,  stood  defiantly  alone.  Each  of  these 
was  quickly  seized  by  a  dozen  men  who,  swaying  their  bodies 
in  unison,  loosened  it  in  its  socket  until  one  after  another  the 
last  remnants  of  the  fence  were  pulled  up,  amid  triumphant 
shoutings,  and  thrown  upon  the  boards  already  lying  upon  the 
grass. 

For  a  minute  the  crowd  stood  undecided  whether  to  advance 
upon  the  works  themselves,  which  stood  a  hundred  feet  back 
from  the  highway  ;  but  cries  of  "  Fall  in  !"  arose,  and  slowly  the 
long  column  reformed  itself  in  the  road.  At  the  command  to 
march  it  moved  forward  towards  the  city,  but  it  was  no  longer 
a  disciplined  army  advancing  in  even  ranks,  but  a  dishevelled 
mob,  crowding  upon  itself  and  filling  the  road  from  one  side 
to  the  other.  The  effect  of  the  liquor  which  still  circulated 
freely  from  man  to  man  was  intensified  by  the  excitement  of 
the  successful  attack  upon  the  fence.  It  was  as  the  first  taste 
of  blood  to  a  wild  beast.  Many  had  armed  themselves  with 
splinters  of  the  broken  boards,  to  the  ends  of  which  they 
knotted  handkerchiefs  and  waved  them  aloft.  The  air  was 
filled  with  a  babel  of  shouts  and  cries  and  laughter,  while  from 
various  sections  of  the  line  voices — perhaps  a  dozen  or  a  score 
— rising  together,  made  themselves  heard  above  the  din,  singing 
in  desultory  fashion  scraps  of  marching  songs — "John  Brown's 
Body  "  and  "  Marching  Through  Georgia." 

They  advanced  towards  town  by  the  road  which  Harrington 
had  taken  on  the  day  when  the  strike  began.  It  was  not  long 
before  an  electric  car  met  them.  The  column  parted  to  make 
way  for  it.  The  engineer,  seeing  his  only  chance  of  safety, 
put  on  full  speed  and  dashed  at  the  approaching  army  at  a 
rate  of  twenty  or  twenty-five  miles  an  hour.  A  roar  of  wrath 
arose  from  two  thousand  throats,  and  with  the  pieces  of  the 
fence  or  whatever  they  held  in  their  hands  the  men  struck  at  the 


A   TRIP    TO    THE    CEMETERY  325 

engineer  and  the  car  as  it  flew  past.  Cowering  back  against  the 
door,  the  engineer  escaped  serious  injury.  The  conductor  had 
entered  the  car,  and  with  the  solitary  passenger  within  crouched 
upon  the  floor,  while  splinters  of  glass  and  wood  showered 
around  them.  Before  the  car  was  clear  of  the  crowd  it  had  not 
a  hand's-breadth  of  unbroken  glass  in  any  of  its  windows. 

What  would  happen  when  the  next  car  was  met?  Evi- 
dently the  question  occurred  to  some  one  of  cooler  head  who 
was  leading  the  column  in  its  progress,  for  at  the  next  corner 
the  army  swung  to  the  right  until  a  street  on  which  there  was 
no  railway  was  reached,  and  then  the  course  cityward  was  re- 
sumed. With  every  minute  the  march  waxed  more  disorderly 
and  more  clamorous.  Whenever  a  drinking-saloon  was  reached 
men,  without  waiting  for  order  to  halt,  fell  out  singly  or  in 
small  parties,  falling  in  again  farther  to  the  rear,  wiping  their 
lips  or  carrying  bottles  in  their  hands.  The  army  was  now 
no  more  than  a  rabble,  advancing  with  hats  and  handkerchiefs 
and  empty  bottles  brandished  in  the  air,  and  coarse  jokes  and 
laughter  of  hoarse  and  half-intoxicated  voices.  At  its  approach 
other  pedestrians  escaped  into  doorways,  and  scared  faces 
peered  from  windows  on  either  hand.  The  drivers  of  vehicles 
stopped  when  they  came  in  sight  of  the  mob,  and,  wheeling 
round,  turned  up  side-streets.  And  as  every  one  fled  before  it 
and  made  way,  the  insolent  consciousness  of  its  power  grew 
upon  the  mob. 

Without  communication  in  words,  the  men  knew  that  posses- 
sion by  right  of  might  was  theirs,  and  that  the  city  was  at  their 
mercy.  With  this  knowledge  came  also  the  unspoken  sense 
of  defiance  of  the  law  and  of  the  people. 

Imperceptibly  but  rapidly  their  attitude  changed  towards  the 
individual  citizens.  Harmless,  frightened  faces  looking  from 
windows  saw  fists  shaken  at  them.  The  wooden  figures  stand- 
ing at  the  doors  of  cigar-stores  were  seized  upon  and  broken, 
barbers'  poles  were  pulled  down,  and  occasional  show  -  cases 
upon  the  sidewalk  were  wrecked.  When  the  men  entered  a 
saloon  it  was  not  to  buy,  but  to  plunder.  It  was  no  longer  a 
demonstration  of  strikers  against  the  companies  with  which 
they  were  at  war,  but  a  riotous  mob  beyond  the  pale  of  the 
law,  and  whose  enemy  was  the  public  peace. 


326  MEN   BORN    EQUAL 

As  the  traveller  in  Africa  crossing  a  patch  of  the  sensitive- 
plant  sees  the  gray-green  life  shrink  and  recoil  from  him  on 
every  side  as  if  his  presence  exhaled  death,  so  human  life  fled 
at  the  approach  of  the  mob,  leaving  it  to  sweep  unresisted 
along  deserted  streets.  The  occasional  policeman  stood  sul- 
lenly back  against  the  walls  of  buildings,  and  looked  angrily  at 
the  men  who  jeered  and  hooted  as  they  went  by. 

The  first  united  halt  was  made  at  the  City  Hall,  in  front  of 
which  the  crowd  massed  itself  and  raised,  first,  cheers  for  the 
mayor  and  then  groans  for  Sullivan.  Word  of  the  coming  of 
the  crowd  had  preceded  it,  and  if  any  of  the  city  officials  were 
still  within  the  building,  for  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon  now, 
they  did  not  show  themselves.  The  faces  of  clerks  appeared 
now  and  again  at  windows,  and,  being  greeted  with  cries  and 
hisses,  vanished.  For  perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  men 
hung  about  the  public  building,  shouting  aimlessly  with  an 
undefined  expectation  that  something  would  happen,  until,  tir- 
ing of  this,  they  moved  on  again  towards  the  strikers'  head- 
quarters. 

Here  Wollmer,  standing  at  an  open  window  (the  headquar- 
ters were  situated  on  the  first  floor  above  the  street),  was  wait- 
ing. He  signalled  for  silence,  and  as  the  men  gathered  into 
a  solid  mass  below  he  spoke  to  them,  arguing  in  behalf  of 
peace. 

"We  are  no  lawless  rioters,"  he  said,  "but  peaceful  citizens, 
who  have  no  enemy  except  the  tyrant  corporations  which  are 
trampling  on  our  rights  and  destroying  our  manhood.  I  im- 
plore you  to  keep  the  peace.  If  this  demonstration  ends  now 
it  will  have  served  only  to  show  the  people  our  strength.  They 
will  respect  us  for  not  using  that  strength,  as  we  might  so 
easily  do,  for  ends  of  violence ;  and  with  the  respect  and  sym- 
pathy of  the  people  victory  will  soon  be  ours.  But  we  must  not 
give  our  enemies  the  chance  to  say  that  we  are  breaking  the 
laws." 

Much  more  he  said,  and  what  he  said  was  good.  There  was 
reason  enough  why  he  should  wish  the  laws  to  be  observed. 
But  though  he  spoke  vehemently,  the  audience  received  his  ut- 
terances with  apathy.  Inflamed  with  liquor  and  their  taste 
of  lawlessness,  they  were  in  no  mood  to  listen  to  the  voice  of 


A    TRIP    TO    THE    CEMETERY  327 

reason.     When  Wollmer  ceased,  another  figure  arose,  standing 
on  a  door-step  and  waving  its  arms  above  its  head. 

"  Let  them  remember,"  shrieked  the  new  speaker,  "  that  they 
shed  the  first  blood  !  We  have  buried  her  to-day.  They  mur- 
dered her,  and  what  may  follow  is  on  their  heads." 

That  was  all.  But  as  the  voice  ceased  and  the  figure  stepped 
down  into  the  crowd  again,  a  roar  of  approval  arose. 

AVollmer  had  retreated  from  the  window  above,  and  for  a 
while  the  mob  stood  irresolute  in  the  gathering  dusk.  Some, 
the  cooler  headed  probably,  began  to  make  their  way  through 
the  door  and  up  the  stairway  to  the  headquarters  rooms.  The 
great  mass,  however,  waited  in  the  street ;  but  from  this  mass 
now  parties  began  to  break  away.  It  did  not  disintegrate 
into  individuals,  but  parted  on  the  old  natural  lines  of  cleavage 
between  the  different  nationalities.  The  Poles  were  the  first 
to  leave,  led  by  the  man  who  had  spoken  after  Wollmer.  They 
formed  a  company  of  some  three  hundred  strong,  and  they  dis- 
entangled themselves  from  the  main  body  of  the  crowd,  with 
much  shouting  from  one  to  another  of  the  name  of  their  favor- 
ite drinking-place  as  their  point  of  destination. 

Other  groups  followed  them  until  the  army  had  separated 
into  some  eight  or  ten  lesser  corps,  each  formidable  enough  for 
mischief  in  itself,  and  only  a  sprinkling  of  men  was  left  in  front 
of  the  headquarters. 

An  hour  or  so  later  Marsh,  walking  moodily  home  from  his 
office,  brooding  upon  the  strange  disclosures  of  the  afternoon, 
fell  in  with  one  of  these  detachments  of  the  mob.  At  a  cor- 
ner he  found  his  way  suddenly  barred  by  the  passage  of  a 
body  of  some  three  hundred  men — a  ragged,  uninviting  regi- 
ment passing  noisily  under  the  electric  light,  amid  the  waving 
of  sticks,  fence-posts,  barber-poles,  stray  signs  stolen  from  over 
doorways,  and  other  miscellaneous  trophies  picked  up  on  the 
march.  Tt  was  led  by  a  tall  man  who  had  twisted  a  bright 
red  handkerchief  around  his  hat,  and  who  thumped  irregularly 
as  he  walked  a  broken  drum.  Marsh  had  heard  nothing  of 
what  had  been  going  on,  and  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  the 
demonstration.  He  stood  on  the  curb  for  the  procession  to 
pass,  looking  at  it  in  idle  curiosity.  Some  one  in  the  crowd, 
resenting  perhaps  the  young  lawyer's  good  clothes  and  appear- 


328  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

ance  of  prosperity,  threw  a  piece  of  kindling-wood  at  him,  strik- 
ing hini  on  tbe  shoulder,  but  without  sufficient  force  to  hurt 
him,  while  the  rest  of  the  mob  cheered  and  hooted. 

Meeting  Barry  at  his  rooms,  Marsh  learned  in  outline  the 
events  of  the  day.  The  municipal  authorities,  it  appeared, 
were  at  last  seriously  alarmed  at  the  outlook.  The  street-rail- 
way company,  after  the  first  collision,  which  has  already  been 
narrated,  between  a  car  and  the  strikers,  had  stopped  the  ser- 
vice all  over  the  city,  and  had  succeeded  in  getting  all  cars  to 
the  barns  before  the  army  had  reached  the  City  Hall,  at  which 
point  they  would,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  have  found 
cars  passing  in  one  direction  or  the  other  almost  every  minute. 
Barry  himself  was  considerably  excited,  intending,  if  occasion 
arose,  to  offer  his  services  that  evening  as  a  deputy -marshal, 
or  in  whatever  capacity  he  could  make  himself  of  use.  For 
Marsh,  knowing  the  manner  of  Mrs.  Masson's  death,  and  un- 
derstanding the  absurdity  of  the  strikers'  canonization  of  the 
dead  woman,  it  was  difficult  to  regard  the  situation  as  really 
serious.  But  he  remembered  the  old  Greek  maxim  that  though 
revolutions  may  have  deep  underlying  causes,  they  are  usually 
precipitated  on  the  most  trivial  occasions. 

On  their  way  to  the  club  the  two  friends  bought  copies  of 
an  extra  edition  of  an  evening  paper,  from  which,  and  from  the 
members  of  the  club,  they  learned  how  threatening  the  out- 
look was.  The  paper  spoke  of  the  city  as  being  already  in  a 
state  of  anarchy  and  at  the  mercy  of  the  mob.  There  had 
been  conferences  of  the  city  and  county  officials,  and  it  was 
evident  that  in  spite  of  an  effort  to  use  brave  language,  all  alike 
were  seriously  apprehensive  of  what  the  night  might  bring 
forth.  A  preliminary  message  had  already  been  sent  to  the 
governor  of  the  State  by  the  sheriff,  informing  him  of  the  sit- 
uation, and  requesting  him  to  issue  orders  to  the  militia  to 
hold  themselves  in  readiness,  in  case  the  civil  authorities  proved 
unable  to  maintain  the  peace.  The  atmosphere  of  the  club 
was  charged  with  excitement.  In  the  smoking  and  dining- 
rooms  there  was  only  one  topic  of  conversation.  While  Marsh 
and  Barry  were  at  dinner  a  detachment  of  the  mob  passed  the 
club-house,  and,  regarding  it  as  an  emblem  of  the  party  of 
wealth  and  aristocracy,  stopped  for  a  minute  to  hoot  and  jeer 


A   TRIP    TO    THE    CEMETERY  329 

at  it.  It  was  dark  outside,  and  the  blinds  were  drawn,  and, 
peering  under  raised  corners,  the  members  within  could  make 
out  but  little  of  what  was  passing  without.  It  seemed  for  a 
time  as  if  the  mob  proposed  to  make  an  assault  upon  the 
building;  but  they  presently  passed  away  with  shouts  and 
cheers,  confining  the  active  expression  of  their  hostility  to  a 
bestowal  of  a  dead  cat  upon  the  much-scrubbed  club  door-step. 
As  soon  as  the  crowd  had  gone  a  liveried  servant  picked  up 
the  desecrating  thing  and  bore  it  delicately  by  the  extreme  tip 
of  its  tail  through  the  hallway,  between  lines  of  gazing  mem- 
bers, for  disposal  somewhere  in  the  rear. 

Marsh  took  little  part  in  the  conversation  among  the  mem- 
bers. At  the  dinner -table  he  suffered  Barry  to  talk  uninter- 
ruptedly, and  afterwards,  when  three  or  four  other  men  for- 
gathered with  them  in  the  wine-room  over  the  coffee  and  cio-ars, 
Horace  was  absent-minded  and  silent.  He  knew  so  much  about 
Mrs.  Masson  and  Harrington,  about  events  which,  daring  the 
next  day  or  two,  must  have  so  large  a  bearing  upon  the  polit- 
ical situation,  which  these  men  did  not  know,  that  much  of 
what  they  said  seemed  childish  and  absurd.  And  he  could  not 
enlighten  them.  Moreover,  he  was  burning  with  the  sense  of 
his  own  wrongs  —  of  the  deception  which  had  been  practised 
upon  him,  and  the  way  in  which  he  had  been  used  as  a  tool  by 
his  friends  and  counsellors.  Above  all,  he  had  not  yet  heard 
from  Jessie,  and  he  was  oppressed  with  undefined  fear  of  dan- 
ger which  the  present  outbreak  might  contain  to  her  and  to  her 
father.  So  he  soon  withdrew  from  the  convivial  circle,  and, 
under  pretence  of  reading  a  newspaper,  seated  himself  in  a 
corner  of  the  reading-room,  and  chewed  the  cud  of  his  thoughts 
alone. 

Why  had  she  not  sent  him  the  promised  message,  so  that  he 
might  go  to  her  this  evening?  And  the  more  he  pondered  the 
more  uneasy  and  restless  he  grew.  At  length  it  became  intol- 
erable, and,  jumping  quickly  from  his  seat,  he  tossed  his  unread 
paper  on  a  table,  and  walked  hastily  to  the  telephone  closet, 
shutting  the  door  carefully  behind  him. 

"Hello!     No.  914,  please." 

"  Hello  !  Is  that  Mr.  Holt's  residence  ?  ...  Is  Miss  Holt  at 
home?  .  .  .  Would  you  ask  her  if  Mr.  Horace  Marsh  can  have 


330  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

the  pleasure  of  speaking  to  her  for  a  minute  at  the  tele- 
phone?" 

As  he  waited  his  heart  beat  so  loudly  that  the  receiver  which 
he  held  to  his  ear  vibrated  to  it.  He  wondered  whether  he 
could  hear  her  voice  when  she  spoke.  But  as  soon  as  the  clear 
accent  came  to  him  his  heart  was  still.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the 
world  was  hushed  and  silent  while  somewhere  from  far  away,  as 
if  it  came  over  endless  stretches  of  level  land  and  evening  mist, 
came  this  fairy  voice.  Only  the  one  word — "  Hello  I" — but  he 
felt  his  left  hand  involuntarily  grip  the  receiver  tightly,  and  for 
a  moment  his  head  swam.  He  had  not  considered  what  he 
would  say  to  her  in  the  headlong  impetuosity  of  his  action. 

"Hello!  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Holt?  .  .  .  This  is  Mr. 
Marsh.  ...  I  had  understood- — or,  rather,  hoped  —  that  I 
might  have  a  message  from  you." 

"Yes.  I  had  intended  writing  to  you  to-night,"  and  over 
the  telephone  Horace  could  hear  that  there  was  hesitation  and 
diffidence  in  the  voice  which  spoke ;  and  it  gave  him  courage. 

"  But  how  can  I  wait  ?"  he  asked.  "  The  message  would 
have  been  to  tell  me  that  I  might  call  and  see  you,  would  it 
not?" 

"  Perhaps." 

"Then  may  I  not  call  to-night?  Let  this  do  instead  of  a 
written  message.     Let  me  call  to-night  ?" 

There  was  a  long  pause  before  she  answered. 

"  Yes,  certainly,  if  you  wish." 

"  I  do  wish  very  much." 

"  Well,  we  shall  be  very  pleased  to  see  you.  Miss  Willerby 
is  here,  but  Miss  Caley  is  not  very  well.  Miss  Willerby  and  I 
will  be  very  glad  to  see  you." 

Horace  longed  to  ask  her  to  say  that  she  would  be  even 
more  glad  than  Miss  Willerby ;  but  he  dared  not  frame  the 
words. 

"In,  say,  three-quarters  of  an  hour  from  now,  then  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Very  well,  and  many,  many  thanks  !     Good-bye  till  then." 

It  was  done !  He  would  see  her  again  !  He  came  out  of 
the  little  closet  into  the  blazing  light  of  the  club  hallway  with 
his  face  aglow   and   every  fibre  of  his  being  tingling.      He 


A   TRIP   TO    THE    CEMETERY  331 

clinched  his  hands  and  hardened  his  muscles,  and  could  have 
shrieked  aloud  in  triumph.  Under  pretext  of  lighting  a  cigar, 
he  stopped  to  let  the  boisterous  tumult  in  his  veins  subside  be- 
fore lie  rejoined  the  party  in  the  wine-room.  Then  he  plunged 
into  the  conversation,  laughing  and  bubbling  with  anecdote 
and  comment.  It  was  another  man  from  the  morose  being 
who  had  left  that  same  table  half  an  hour  before  so  silently  and 
moodily.  It  was  as  if  he  had  drunk  heavily  —  drunk  of  an 
elixir  of  intoxication  and  joy. 


XXVI 

MY    FRIENDS    THE    ENEMY 

Half  an  hour  later  Marsh  was  in  a  cab,  on  his  way  to  her 
house.  In  the  neighborhood  of  the  strikers'  headquarters  the 
street  was  so  crowded  that  the  driver  was  compelled  to  turn 
aside  and  go  by  by-ways.  At  another  corner  Marsh  caught, 
in  passing,  a  glimpse  of  a  black  mass  of  moving  figures  block- 
ing the  road,  and  he  heard  their  shouts  and  laughter  above  the 
rattling  of  the  cab.  But  he  felt  no  ill-will  towards  the  men. 
What  did  it  affect  him  ?     Was  he  not  going  to  her? 

Suddenly  from  somewhere  far  away  came  the  dull  roar  of 
an  explosion.  From  which  direction  the  sound  reached  him  it 
was  impossible  to  say.  He  wondered,  indifferently,  what  it 
might  be — an  explosion  of  gas,  probably,  or  perhaps  it  was 
only  some  blasting  going  on  somewhere.  It  did  not  matter. 
He  was  going  to  her. 

As  the  cab  struck  into  the  avenue  on  which  Mr.  Holt's  resi- 
dence was  situated,  two  men  crossed  the  street  in  the  darkness 
under  the  horse's  very  nose,  running  in  the  same  direction  as 
he  was  travelling.  Passing  the  Carrington  house,  Horace  saw 
a  knot  of  figures,  men  and  women,  coming  down  the  drive- 
way. Reaching  the  sidewalk,  they  too  turned  northward.  At 
the  next  corner  another  figure  appeared,  running.  Others 
could  now  be  seen  on  either  side  of  the  street,  all  going  the 
same  way. 

At  first  Horace  was  interested  and  perplexed.  Then  per- 
plexity gave  way  to  uneasiness,  and  uneasiness  grew  to  sicken- 
ing fear.  Could  it  have  been  at  her  house  that  the  explosion 
had  occurred?  Was  it  possible  that  the  strikers  would  do 
such  a  thing? 

Looking  anxiously  ahead,  he  could  see  that  the  number  of 


MY    FKIENDS   THE    ENEMY  333 

people  on  the  sidewalks  increased  as  he  approached  his  desti- 
nation. Was  there  not  a  dark  mass  as  of  a  crowd  of  people 
there,  about  where  the  house  stood?  Before  the  horse  had 
stopped,  Horace  had  thrown  open  the  door  of  the  hansom 
and  jumped  to  the  ground.  The  crowd  was  not  large  in  front 
of  the  house,  but  round  on  the  south  side  of  the  building  he 
could  see  that  the  lawn  was  covered  with  people.  He  pushed 
his  way,  as  with  authority,  through  the  throng,  and  ran  up  the 
steps.  Thomas  stood  in  the  doorway  to  bar  the  way  to  chance 
comers,  but  moved  aside  for  Horace. 

"  Is  any  one  hurt,  Thomas?"  Horace  asked,  breathlessly. 

"No,  sir;  Mr.  Holt  had  just  stepped  out  of  his  study  when 
the  explosion  occurred.  It  wrecked  his  desk,  and  the  whole 
room  is  in  ruins." 

"And  Miss  Holt?" 

"  She  is  well,  sir." 

"  What  was  it — dynamite  ?" 

"  We  think  so,  sir." 

Horace  pushed  on  into  the  house.  The  air  within  was  full 
of  a  white  dust,  through  which  the  lights  shone  as  in  a  dense 
smoke.  The  atmosphere  was  chill  and  damp,  with  a  cloistral 
smell  as  of  moist  earth.  In  the  centre  of  the  broad  hall  a 
mass  of  white  plaster  lay  upon  the  dark  rugs,  where  it  had 
fallen  from  the  ceiling.  Upon  Marsh's  right  hand  as  he  en- 
tered was  the  drawing-room,  and  next  to  that  the  less  formal 
family  sitting-room.  Mr.  Holt's  study  was  situated  in  the  rear 
of  this  last  apartment.  But  all  was  blackness  there.  As  he 
approached,  Marsh  could  see  that  in  place  of  the  study  door- 
way gaped  a  ragged  chasm  in  the  wall,  and  beyond  —  there 
seemed  to  be  no  room  at  all.  An  indistinguishable  pile  of 
broken  furniture  and  debris  lay  upon  what  had  been  the  floor, 
and  behind  that  was  nothing  but  the  night.  The  outer  wall 
of  the  study  was  completely  gone,  and  in  its  place  was  only 
the  open  air,  with  the  lights  of  the  adjoining  house  shining 
through  the  darkness. 

From  behind  a  closed  door  somewhere  Mr.  Holt's  voice 
could  be  heard  as  he  spoke  at  the  telephone.  Horace,  peer- 
ing through  the  broken  wall  into  the  night,  was  startled  by  a 
sudden  sob  at  his  back,  and,  turning,  saw  two  figures — Miss 


334  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

Caley,  barefooted  and  in  a  night-robe,  with  a  shawl  thrown  over 
her  shoulders,  sobbing  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  being 
led  gently  by  Miss  Willerby,  who  had  one  arm  passed  round 
the  other's  waist.  Miss  Willerby  saw  Horace  and  nodded  in 
friendlywise  as  she  helped  her  charge  to  the  staircase,  and 
the  two  figures  ascended  slowly. 

Marsh  retraced  his  steps  towards  the  hall-door,  looking  now 
into  the  rooms  on  the  other  side — into  the  dining-room  first, 
where  gas-jets  burned  dimly,  but  which  was  empty,  and  then 
into  the  library.  Here  he  found  her.  She  was  standing  by 
the  fireplace  in  a  favorite  attitude  of  hers,  with  a  foot  on  the 
fender  and  her  forehead  bowed  upon  the  hand  which  rested 
on  the  mantel. 

"Miss  Holt!" 

At  his  voice  she  raised  her  face  and  looked  at  him.  She 
was  very  pale,  and  her  eyes  shone  intensely  black  and  brill- 
iant. As  he  came  towards  her  she  drew  back.  Then  stand- 
ing erect  to  face  him,  and  throwing  out  her  two  hands  rigidly 
with  the  palms  upward,  she  said,  in  a  strange,  tense  voice,  as 
between  her  clinched  teeth : 

"  See  what  your  friends  have  done  !" 

"  My  friends !" 

Horace  stopped  and  looked  at  her  in  amazement ;  and  as  he 
saw  how  pale  she  was  and  how  large  and  dark  were  her  eyes, 
the  amazement  gave  way  to  pity  and  great  tenderness.  And 
as  he  met  and  held  her  gaze  he  saw  the  hardness  and  defiance 
melt  out  of  her  eyes,  and  in  its  place  came  an  appealing,  help- 
less look  that  was  all  womanly.  For  some  seconds  she  steeled 
herself  to  face  him,  until  came  the  moment  when  her  nerves 
would  obey  her  will  no  longer,  and,  as  instantaneously  as  the 
snapping  of  a  violin  string,  her  whole  body  broke  and  yielded ; 
and,  with  a  quick  catching  of  her  breath,  she  sank  with  her  face 
in  her  hands  into  a  chair.  Immediately  he  was  on  his  knees 
at  her  side. 

"  Miss  Holt !     Jessie  !" 

But  she  only  sobbed. 

"Jessie,  my  darling!" 

And  slowly  moving  one  hand  from  her  face  with  one  of  his, 
and  placing  the  other  beneath  her  chin  and  gently  raising  her 


MY    FRIENDS    THE    ENEMY  335 

face,  he  kissed  her.  And  as  if  at  last  she  had  found  the  rest- 
ing-place for  which,  without  knowing  it,  she  had  longed  through 
all  the  weeks  of  wretchedness,  she  let  her  head  rest  upon  his 
shoulder  and  gave  way  to  her  tears. 

But  the  door  of  the  apartment  was  open,  and  any  one  of  the 
people  who  were  moving  in  the  hall  might  step  into  the  room 
and  see  them.  So,  tenderly  pushing  her  from  him,  he  said, 
laughingly  : 

11 1  think  they  must  have  been  my  friends,  after  all." 

She  looked  at  him  as  she  sat  up  and  smiled  through  her 
tears — smiled,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  in  happiness— and  gave  him 
her  two  hands  to  take.  He  held  them,  and  raised  each  in  turn 
lightly  to  his  lips  before  rising  from  his  knees. 

"Imust  see  if  I  can  be  of  any  use,"  he  said.  "You  stay 
here." 

In  the  hall  he  met  Mr.  Holt,  seemingly  as  self-controlled  as 

ever. 

"  It  is  an  absurd  time  for  congratulations,  Mr.  Holt,"  Horace 
said,  as  he  shook  hands ;  "  but  I  understand  that  you  had  a 
narrow  escape." 

"Yes,  luck  was  on  my  side,"  replied  the  other. 

At  that  moment,  from  the  rear  of  the  house,  amid  a  confused 
noise  of  slamming  doors  and  hurrying  feet,  arose  a  frightened 
cry  of  "  Fire  !"  Stepping  back  towards  the  study,  the  two  men 
saw  a  thin,  yellow  flame  flickering  up  from  the  pile  of  wreck- 
age. A  man-servant  hurried  from  the  dining-room  with  a 
pitcher  of  ice -water  in  his  hands,  and  dashed  the  contents  on 
the  blaze.  Apparently  it  was  extinguished,  but  only  for  a  min- 
ute ;  and  again  it  appeared,  rather  stronger  than  before.  Other 
servants  came  with  buckets  and  pitchers,  which  were  emptied 
one  after  another  upon  the  flames,  which  again  smouldered 
down  and  seemed  to  die  out  for  good. 

"The  fire  department  will  be  here  in  a  minute,"  said  Mr. 
Holt.  "I  have  already  telephoned  for  them  on  the  chance. 
They  are  good  people  to  have  around  at  such  times." 

Even  as  he  was  speaking  the  angry  clangor  of  the  gong  of 
an  approaching  engine  was  heard  outside,  and  the  house  shook 
to  the  sound  of  the  heavy  wheels.  Close  upon  the  first  engine 
came  another,  and  immediately  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  arriv- 


336  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

ing  from  all  sides  at  once.  The  shouts  of  authority  were  heard 
without  auiid  the  panting  of  the  engines  and  the  din  of  gongs 
and  trampling  horses,  and  within  the  hall  was  filled  with  hatted 
and  belted  men  tramping  heavily  in  their  large  boots  as  they 
dragged  the  long,  snake-like  line  of  hose  behind  them  from  the 
front  door  back  to  the  ruined  study. 

There  is  no  martial  law,  no  dictatorship  or  despotism,  so 
complete  as  the  authority  of  the  fire  department  when  it  takes 
possession  of  a  threatened  building.  In  their  rugged,  silent 
presence,  so  intent  are  they  on  the  work  which  lies  before  them 
— the  work  which  is  the  supreme  work  of  the  moment  —  the 
ordinary  man,  in  the  cowardly  costume  of  common  life,  feels 
himself  grow  suddenly  impotent.  His  mere  existence  becomes 
an  impertinence.  Horace,  conscious  of  his  uselessness,  turned 
again  to  seek  Miss  Holt.  She  was  standing  in  the  doorway  of 
the  library,  and  he  could  not  resist  taking  her  hands  once  more 
for  just  an  instant.  As  their  hands  met  she  smiled  with  a  smile 
which  awoke  in  him  an  irrational  longing  to  roll  upon  the  floor 
at  her  feet. 

"  There  is  no  danger,  is  there  ?"  she  asked. 

"  None  at  all,  I  fancy." 

"  Do  you  know  where  the  girls  are  ?" 

"  I  saw  Miss  Willerby  taking  Miss  Caley  up-stairs  when  I 
first  came  in.     Probably  Miss  Caley  is  dressing." 

"  What  a  dear,  good  girl  Grace  is,"  said  Jessie.  "  She  is  a 
thousand  times  braver  than  I." 

"  She  has  not  had  a  thousandth  part  of  what  you  have  had 
to  bear,"  said  Horace. 

Seeing  the  chief  of  the  fire  department  passing  in  the  hall, 
Horace  signalled  to  him. 

"  Is  there  any  danger  of  fire  ?" 

"  None  at  all,  Mr.  Marsh." 

"  Any  reason  why  the  ladies  up-stairs  should  be  told  to  get 
their  things  together,  and  prepare  to  escape?" 

"  None  at  all.  See  that  thieves  don't  get  their  jewels,  that 
is  all."     And  the  chief  shouldered  his  way  out  into  the  night. 

As  Horace  turned  to  Jessie  again  Marshall  Blakely  entered, 
apparently  the  only  man  not  a  fireman  or  a  member  of  the  po- 
lice-force whom  the  watchful  Thomas  had  allowed  to  pass  into 


MY    FRIENDS    THE    ENEMY  337 

the  house  since  Marsh  had  arrived.  Horace,  in  his  new  happi- 
ness, felt  forgiveness  in  his  heart,  and  greeted  Blakely  cordial- 
ly ;  but  Jessie  met  him  with  a  formal  bow.  Perhaps  there 
was  that  in  Horace's  manner  or  a  something  in  the  atmosphere 
which  told  Blakelyof  his  defeat;  for  he  seemed  unwontedly  ill 
at  ease. 

"  I  am  so  delighted  to  hear  that  no  one  is  hurt,"  he  said  to 
Miss  Holt.     "  But  can  I  be  of  any  sort  of  service  ?" 

"  I  know  of  nothing,  thank  you,"  said  Jessie.  "The  police- 
men and  firemen  seem  to  have  taken  everything  into  their 
hands." 

"  As  they  ought  to  do.  But  you  are  not  going  to  stay  here 
to-night  ?  Can  I  do  anything  in  the  way  of  going  to  the  hotel 
and  arranging  for  quarters  for  you  ?" 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  have  not  spoken  to  my  father  yet,  and  I 
don't  know  what  he  will  do." 

"Am  I  allowed  to  go  back  and  see  the  damage?"  he  asked. 

"  I  think  so,  if  you  can  get  through  the  firemen." 

So  Blakely  bowed,  seeming  glad  to  get  away,  and  passed  on 
along  the  hall. 

"  Come  and  sit  down,  and  tell  me  about  it,"  said  Horace,  as 
soon  as  the  other  had  gone. 

"There  is  nothing  to  tell,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  they  were 
seated  on  a  sofa  which  was  out  of  range  of  eyesight  from  the 
door.  "  I  was  sitting  looking  at  the  fire,  and  perhaps — only 
perhaps,  mind ! — wondering  if  it  were  not  nearly  time  for  you 
to  arrive,  and  what  I  should  say  to  you  when  you  did  come. 
Grace  was  at  the  piano.  Mary  was  up-stairs.  Father  came  into 
the  room  to  ask  a  question  about  Wilson's  wife,  who  has  been 
ill,  and  was  just  going  back  to  his  study  when  the  thing  hap- 
pened. It  threw  father  against  the  door-post,  but  did  not  hurt 
him.  There  was  a  smashing  of  glass,  and  the  house  shook  so 
that  things  fell  off  the  mantel-piece,  and  some  of  the  pictures 
dropped  from  the  walls.  The  noise  was  dreadful,  but  not  as 
loud,  I  think,  as  I  should  have  expected,  and  it  was  slow.  For 
a  moment  I  thought  the  whole  house  was  coming  down,  and 
for  a  minute  afterwards  we  could  hear  things  falling  and  break- 
ing everywhere.  Then  we  heard  Mary  screaming,  and  thought 
she  was  hurt ;  but  it  was  only  fright.  We  have  no  idea  how  it 
22 


338  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

was  done;  probably  they  crept  up  to  the  house  from  outside 
and  placed  a  bomb  or  something  on  the  ledge  of  the  study  win- 
dow. Just  think  if  father  had  not  happened  to  come  out  just 
at  that  moment !"  And  her  voice  broke  as  she  added,  "  But 
it  did  not  only  '  happen.'  " 

Horace  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"  I  heard  the  noise  in  my  cab  on  the  way  up,  and  wondered 
what  it  was.  To  think  of  my  not  guessing !  I  supposed  it  was 
the  gas-works  or  something." 

Miss  Willerby  came  in. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?"  she  said,  shaking  hands  with  Horace.  "  I 
had  not  time  to  speak  to  you  before."  And  by  the  light  in  her 
eyes  and  the  clasp  of  her  hand  Horace  saw  that,  by  some  mys- 
terious process  of  feminine  divination,  she  had  guessed  what  had 
passed.  And  when  she  leaned  over  to  kiss  Miss  Holt,  Jessie 
also  knew  that  she  understood. 

"  Where  is  Mary  ?"  Miss  Holt  inquired. 

"  She  is  talking  to  Mr.  Barry  in  the  drawing-room." 

"  Is  Barry  here  ?"  asked  Horace. 

"He  just  arrived  as  we  came  down-stairs." 

"Have  you  seen  father?"  Jessie  asked. 

"Yes;  he  is  in  the  dining-room  with  some  men — reporters, 
I  suppose."  And  she  leaned  over  Jessie  again  with  a  caress 
which  bespoke  congratulations,  and,  with  another  glad  smile  to 
Horace,  turned  to  leave  the  room.  As  she  did  so  Barry  thrust 
his  head  into  the  doorway,  and,  without  formality  of  greeting, 
called  : 

"  Do  you  people  know  that  the  steel-works  are  burning  ?" 

Miss  Willerby  hurried  to  one  of  the  windows  facing  north, 
followed  by  Miss  Holt  and  Horace.  A  dull  red  glare  was  visi- 
ble in  the  sky  in  the  direction  in  which  the  works  lay,  but  the 
trees  and  buildings  shut  out  the  view. 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  third  story,"  suggested  Jessie ;  "  from  the 
balcony  there  we  can  see." 

The  three  started  together  and  made  their  way  through  the 
hall,  stepping  over  hose  and  skirting  piles  of  fallen  plaster,  while 
the  firemen  stood  back  to  let  them  pass.  At  the  dining-room 
door  Jessie  stopped  and  called  to  Mr.  Holt,  who  was  seated  at 
the  table  with  three  other  men. 


MY    FRIENDS    THE    ENEMY  339 

"Do  you  know  the  steel -works  are  on  fire,  father?"  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,  dear.     But  we  cannot  help  by  going  there." 

The  three  hastened  on. 

"  I  feel  somehow  as  if  I  ought  to  be  able  to  do  something," 
Horace  said  to  Jessie.  "  But  what  can  I  do  ?  Anyway,"  he 
added,  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  am  too  happy  to  care  much  whether 
I  do  my  duty  or  not." 

On  the  second  floor  Miss  Willerby  turned  into  her  bed- 
room. 

"  You  go  on,"  she  said ;  "  I  will  join  you  in  a  minute,"  and 
Horace  blessed  her  in  his  heart. 

The  third  floor  was  in  darkness  except  for  one  light  burning 
in  the  hall.  Jessie  led  the  way  across  the  hard,  polished  floor 
of  the  dancing-room  to  where  a  wide  French  window  opened  on 
a  small  balcony.  Horace  fumbled  for  the  fastening,  and  finally 
succeeded  in  pushing  the  window  open.  Stepping  out,  they 
could  see  how  completely  the  flames  had  fastened  upon  the 
great  buildings.  Of  the  main  shop  itself  the  roof  had  appar- 
ently already  fallen  in,  and  the  walls,  very  black  against  the  yel- 
low background,  contained  nothing  but  one  huge  furnace,  from 
which  the  flames  licked  high  into  the  heavens.  Other  of  the 
buildings  were  burning  either  at  one  side  or  from  the  roof.  The 
whole  quarter  of  the  sky  was  lit  up  to  a  brilliant  orange  fading 
to  crimson  at  the  horizon,  while  black  scarves  and  wreaths  of 
smoke  rolled  upward  and  drifted  away  northward  before  the 
breeze.  Now  and  again  falling  rafters  or  the  ruin  of  a  wall 
would  for  a  moment  smother  the  raging  fire,  and  the  smoke 
rose  in  denser  columns.  But  an  instant  later — as  if  it  were 
some  huge  beast  which  devoured  whatever  was  thrown  to  it, 
and  only  raged  for  food  the  more  fiercely  it  was  fed — the  flame 
leaped  again,  and  seemed  to  throw  off  masses  of  itself,  which 
floated  for  an  instant  detached  in  the  air. 

At  this  distance  of  about  a  mile  the  roar  of  the  conflagra- 
tion came  to  them  like  the  muffled  thunder  of  a  heavy  water- 
fall. The  light  fell  upon  their  faces  and  tipped  the  half-bare 
branches  of  the  trees  with  crimson,  and  flashed  upon  the  walls 
and  roofs  of  neighboring  houses. 

Jessie  drew  a  long  breath. 


840  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

"  It  is  terrible,"  she  said ;  "  but,  oh,  it  is  grand  !" 

"  It  is  wicked — wicked — wicked  !"  said  Horace. 

They  stood  side  by  side  and  watched  in  silence.  Then 
Horace  turned  his  face  to  her,  and  found  that  with  the  glow 
of  the  flames  on  the  high  forehead  and  the  rounded  cheeks 
she  was  pleasant  to  look  upon.  Presently  under  his  gaze  she 
turned  her  eyes  to  his. 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said,  faltering ;  "  down-stairs,  just  now,  you 
meant  everything,  did  you  not  ?  You  have  given  yourself  to 
me?" 

She  did  not  answer,  but  in  her  eyes  he  read  that  which  em- 
boldened him  to  take  her  hands  in  his  and  draw  her  to  him, 
and,  holding  her  closely,  to  kiss  her  again. 

"  My  darling!"  he  murmured;  "and  to  think  that  only  yes- 
terday—  Do  you  know  what  I  have  lived  through  during 
these  last  few  weeks  ?  Have  you  any  idea  of  the  blackness  of 
life  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  "  and  I  have  wanted  you,  too.  I 
misunderstood — and  yet  my  heart  did  not  believe  it.  I  know 
now  that  my  heart  never  could  have  believed  such  things  of  you. 
I  knew  it  last  night,  at  the  meeting,  the  instant  I  heard  your 
voice — " 

"  At  what  meeting  ?" 

"  Why,  at  Columbus  Hall.  Did  not  Mr.  Barry  tell  you  we 
were  there  ?" 

"No.  You  heard  me  speak  last  night?  You  were  in  the 
hall  ?    And  he—     The  wretch  !" 

"Don't  call  him  names.  He  persuaded  me  to  go;  and  if  I 
had  not  gone  and  heard  you,  we  should  not  be  here  to-night 
together." 

"  He  is  not  a  wretch ;  he  is  a  god  !  And  I  too,"  he  added, 
after  a  pause,  "  am'  a  god  to-night.  If  I  was  mortal  this  happi- 
ness would  kill  me." 

"  '  She  raised  a  mortal  to  the  skies, 
He  drew  an  angel  down.' 

Pardon  me.  I  must  talk  nonsense."  As  he  pondered,  the 
full  sense  of  Barry's  duplicity  came  to  him.  "  If  you  could 
have  heard  that  villain — I  mean  that  god — asking  me  ques- 


MY    FRIENDS   THE    ENEMY  341 

tions  about  the  meeting,  and  the  simple,  childish  interest  which 
he  showed  in  my  account  of  it,  and  the  way  he  affected  to  dis- 
believe— !  He  deserves  to  be  smothered — with  kindness,  bless 
him !" 

Meanwhile  in  the  distance  a  fierce  fight  was  raging.  The 
great  shop  was  still  but  a  huge  devil's  caldron  of.  flames  which 
did  not  seem  to  abate.  Where  a  -smaller  building  on  the 
south  had  been  burning  when  they  first  came  out  was  now 
only  blackness,  the  firemen  evidently  having  mastered  the  fire 
at  that  point ;  but  from  another  building  beyond  the  machine- 
shop,  and  only  partly  visible  behind  it,  a  sheet  of  flame  was 
rising  which  was  a  conflagration  in  itself.  Against  the  yellow 
the  watchers  could  see  the  dark  lines  of  the  streams  of  water 
playing;  and  the  uncertain  volume  of  the  blaze  and  the  in- 
termingling eddies  of  steam  and  smoke  told  how  hard  a  fight 
was  being  waged.  Then,  as  they  looked,  the  whole  of  one 
wall  of  the  great  machine-shop  fell  inward,  the  roar  and  crash 
of  the  catastrophe  reaching  their  ears  long  after  the  wall  had 
gone.  At  first  it  seemed  that  the  flames  had  been  overwhelmed 
in  the  avalanche,  and  only  a  dull  red  swirl  of  luminous  smoke 
filled  the  space  where  the  blaze  had  been.  But,  first  at  one 
end  and  then  from  the  centre,  the  fire  leaped  up  again,  angrier 
only  and  hungrier  than  before. 

"  It  is  wicked — wicked — wicked !"  said  Horace. 

They  were  still  watching  when  Miss  Willerby  stepped  from 
the  darkness  behind  out  to  the  balcony. 

"There  is  a  little  girl  down-stairs,  Jessie,"  she  said,  "who 
wants  to  see  you." 

"  What  kind  of  a  little  girl  ?" 

"  A  very  little  girl — thin  and  old-looking.  She  will  not  give 
her  name,  but  insists  on  seeing  Miss  Holt." 

Jessie,  followed  by  the  other  two,  went  down-stairs. 

"  She  is  in  the  library,"  said  Miss  Willerby. 

The  party  entered  that  room,  and  there,  standing  very  stiff- 
ly in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  as  if  seeking  to  place  herself  as 
far  from  every  article  of  furniture  as  possible,  stood  Lizzie 
Silling. 

"  Why,  Lizzie,"  Jessie  exclaimed,  "  how  do  you  do  ?" 

"  Quite  well,  thank  you,"  said  Lizzie. 


342  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

Jessie  settled  herself  in  a  chair  and  drew  the  child  to  her. 
"  And  how  is  your  mother  ?" 

"  She's  quite  well.  She  got  Mrs.  Balderson's  washing  yes- 
terday.    She's  been  try  in'  to  get  it  for  a  year." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  that." 

Miss  Holt  waited  for  Lizzie  to  explain  her  sudden  appear- 
ance, but  Lizzie  kept  silence. 

"  Did  you  want  to  tell  me  something?"  Miss  Holt  asked  at  last. 

"  Yes,"  the  child  replied,  simply,  looking  first  at  Miss  Wil- 
lerby  and  then  at  Horace. 

"  Do  not  mind  these  two,"  said  Jessie.  "  These  are  my  two 
best  friends  in  all  the  world,  next  to  my  father."  As  she  said 
it  she  looked  at  Horace,  who  felt  his  heart  leap;  and  Miss 
Willerby  discreetly  kept  her  eyes  on  Lizzie  and  smiled.  "This 
is  Miss  Willerby  and  this  is  Mr.  Marsh,"  continued  Miss  Holt, 
introducing  them.     "  This  is  Lizzie  Silling." 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you  something,"  Lizzie  began,  hesitat- 
ingly— "  I  wanted  to  tell  you  what  they  was  goin'  to  do  to- 
night, but  I  come  as  fast  as  I  could.  I  couldn't  come  no 
quicker." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  Jessie  asked.  "  How  did  you  know 
what  they  were  going  to  do  ?" 

"  I  heard  'em  talkin',"  said  the  child. 

"  Whom  did  you  hear  talking,  and  when  ?" 

"  To-night.  Bart  and  another  man.  I  was  sittin'  on  the 
bottom  step  goin'  up  to  our  place,  inside  the  door,  an'  it  was 
all  dark;  and  Bart  and  him  come  in  from  the  street  an'  stood 
inside  the  passage,  an'  I  heard  'em  talk.     They  didn't  see  me." 

"  What  did  they  say?" 

"  They  said  as  Bony  said  as  it  would  go  off  about  half-past 
eight.  Bart  was  tellin'  the  other  fellow,  an'  it  was  near  half- 
past  eight  then." 

"  Who  is  Bart  ?" 

"  He's  an  Italian  what  keeps  a  fruit-stand." 

"  And  Bony  ?" 

"  He's  another  Italian.  He  used  to  work  for  the  steel  com- 
pany, an'  was  fired  'cos  he  got  drunk.  He's  a  tough,  Bony  is. 
So's  Bart.  It  was  Bony  as  come  nigh  killin'  Dutch  Sam'  cos 
Sam  sassed  'im.     Oh,  he's  bad." 


MY    FRIENDS    THE    ENEMY  343 

"  What  did  Bart  say  Bony  told  him  ?" 

The  child  pondered  a  minute. 

"  He  said  as  Bony  said  it  would  go  off  about  half-past  eight, 
when  Mr.  Holt  was  in  his  room  writin'.  He  said  as  Bony  said 
as  there  was  enough  of  it  to  kill  the  whole  family." 

"And  what  did  you  do?" 

"  Jest  sat  still.  I  waited  till  they'd  gone,  an'  that  was  quite 
r  while.  They  was  waitin'  fer  it  to  go  off,  but  they  got  tired. 
An'  soon  as  they  went  I  come  here.  But  it's  quite  a  ways,  an' 
I  couldn't  get  here  no  sooner.  I  hadn't  hardly  started  before 
I  heard  it  go  off." 

"Did  you  walk  all  the  way  ?" 

"  No,  I  run." 

"  You  good  girl !  But  now  I  want  you  to  tell  this  all  over 
to  somebody  else." 

"  Not  to  the  police  ?" 

"  No ;  to  my  father  now,  but  perhaps  to  the  police,  too.  Why 
not?" 

"  'Cos  I'm  scared." 

"  Oh  no,  you  are  not,"  said  Jessie ;  "  and  if  I  want  you  to, 
I  know  you  will." 

"  I  will  go  and  find  Mr.  Holt,"  said  Horace. 

He  found  him  still  in  the  dining-room  in  consultation  with 
the  chief  of  police  and  a  detective.  The  reporters  had  gone. 
Horace  drew  Mr.  Holt  aside,  and  told  him  the  situation  briefly. 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me  a  minute,  gentlemen,"  Mr.  Holt  said, 
addressing  the  other  two.  "  I  learn  from  Mr.  Marsh  that  there 
is  somebody  waiting  to  see  me  whose  evidence  may  be  of  value 
to  us.     If  you  will  wait  here,  I  will  be  back  in  a  few  minutes." 

Lizzie  told  her  story  again  to  Mr.  Holt,  and  yet  a  third  time 
in  the  presence  of  Chief  Winley  and  the  detective,  more  diffi- 
dently, but  none  the  less  producing,  under  their  skilful  ques- 
tioning, many  queer  odds  and  ends  of  information  of  greater  or 
less  collateral  value.  It  was  nearly  midnight  before  the  police- 
men said  that  she  could  go  home,  and  Jessie  asked  her  how  she 
would  go.     The  child  looked  puzzled. 

"  How  will  you  get  home?     Will  you  walk  and  go  alone?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lizzie,  wonderingly  ;  "mother  ain't  here." 

"  But  you  can't  walk  all  that  way  alone  at  night." 


344  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

Evidently  the  child  was  bewildered. 

"  Let  me  take  her  home  in  a  cab,"  suggested  Horace. 

"I  guess  not,"  was  all  she  said. 

"Better  just  let  her  go,"  said  the  detective.  "She  is  used 
to  it,  and  it  would  never  do  for  any  one  to  be  seen  with  her. 
They  'Id  kill  her." 

So  Jessie  reluctantly  let  the  little  one  go  off  into  the  dark- 
ness alone,  with  three  long  miles  of  walk  ahead  of  her.  She 
kissed  her  many  times  and  sent  messages  to  her  mother,  all  of 
which  the  girl  received  with  perfect  stolidity,  and  then  slipped 
sideways  out  of  the  front  door  and  down  the  steps  into  the 
night,  and  was  swallowed  up. 

"  And  I  suppose  that  I  must  go,"  said  Horace,  as  he  and  Jes- 
sie stood  side  by  side  on  the  door-step.  "  You  will  be  safe  here 
now ;  but  I  do  not  any  the  less  hate  to  leave  you. 

"  And  I  may  call  again  to-morrow  afternoon  ?"  he  asked,  after 
a  pause. 

"If  you  wish." 

"  And  to-morrow  evening  ?" 

"If  you  wish." 

"  And  may  I  see  Mr.  Holt  to-morrow  evening  and  tell  him  ?" 

"  If  you  wish." 

"  And  do  you  know  that  I  am  the  most  insanely  happy  man 
in  America  to-night?"  he  said.  "And  I  ought  to  be.  It  isn't 
only  a  lover's  prejudice.  I  honestly  believe  that  you  are  the 
sweetest,  truest,  dearest,  loveliest,  best  girl  living.  I  know  you 
are.  And  you  are  to  be  mine — mine — my  wife  !  Oh,  my  dar- 
ling!" 


XXVII 

UNSTABLE    AS    WATER 

That  night  the  city  lay  under  a  reign  of  terror.  At  a 
dozen  different  points  fire  broke  out,  but,  with  the  exception 
of  the  destruction  of  the  steel-works,  with  little  serious  dam- 
age. The  street-railway  company  had  massed  men  enough 
around  its  barns  and  power-houses  to  protect  them,  and  the 
strikers,  having  all  the  city  for  their  prey,  made  no  attempt 
to  carry  any  of  those  buildings  by  storm.  But  the  windows 
of  the  company's  offices  were  wrecked,  and  through  the  town 
the  drunken  mobs  roamed  unresisted,  plundering  and  rifling 
where  they  would. 

In  the  gray  of  the  morning  special  trains  arrived,  bringing 
companies  of  militia  from  various  points,  and  the  local  com- 
panies, assembling  at  their  armories,  marched  through  the 
streets  in  the  dawning  light.  Early  risers  after  the  uneasy 
night  heard  the  level  words  of  command  and  the  regular 
tramp  of  marching  feet,  and  peered  from  beneath  their  win- 
dow-shades to  see  the  blue  uniforms  go  by. 

Horace,  returning  to  his  rooms,  sat  down  to  write  to  her. 
Barry,  arriving  an  hour  later,  found  him  still  writing.  But 
Barry  appeared  downcast  and  uncommunicative,  and  retired. 
And  Horace  still  wrote.  He  had  nothing  to  say  but  the  one 
same  thing,  and  he  said  it  again  and  again — told  how  he  had 
known  for  months  that  only  in  one  way  could  his  life  ever  be 
happy,  and  how  unutterably  bitter  the  world  had  been  for  the 
last  few  weeks.  He  tried  to  put  into  the  words  with  which 
he  told  her  of  his  happiness  something  of  the  fervor  and  tri- 
umph of  the  swirl  that  was  in  his  veins ;  and  in  page  after 
page  he  told  her  of  her  own  goodness  and  how  good  God  was 
to  him.     And  when  he  had  written  far  into  the  morning  he 


346  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

rose  and  sank  into  his  favorite  arm-chair  and  lit  his  pipe. 
More  than  once  during  the  night  the  howls  and  laughter  of 
the  mobs  in  the  street  reached  his  ears,  and  before  he  went  to 
bed  he  heard  the  roll  of  drums,  and  the  air  without  was  light. 

It  was  late  when  he  reached  his  office.  The  door  to  his 
partner's  room  was  closed,  and  in  his  happiness  Horace's 
heart  ached  for  the  grief  and  the  shame  that  lay  beyond  it. 
Work  was  out  of  the  question,  and  he  sat  and  gazed,  dreaming, 
out  of  the  window. 

His  dreams  were  interrupted  by  the  opening  of  his  partner's 
door.  Horace  swung  round  in  his  chair  and  prepared  to  rise, 
but  instead  of  the  General  it  was  Sullivan  who  issued  from  the 
adjoining  room,  closing  the  door  carefully  behind  him. 

"  Whist !"  said  he,  in  a  low  voice  ;  "  but  it's  a  sad  and  amaz- 
in'  pecurious  situation ;  and  not  the  least  part  of  the  sadness 
is  that  we'll  be  losin'  yersilf  from  the  party,  me  lad." 

The  sight  of  the  Irishman  brought  back  to  Horace's  mind 
the  recollection  of  the  trick  that  had  been  played  upon  him- 
self.    He  rose,  and,  facing  the  other,  said,  very  calmly : 

"  I  think  so.  It  is  not  so  much  the  party  that  is  at  fault 
as  some  of  the  blackguards  who  lead  it  and  lie  to  it."  He 
paused  for  a  moment,  and  continued : 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,  Mr.  Sullivan,  that  in  the  long- 
run  falsehood  and  trickery  and  blackguardism  are  sure  to  lose 
you  more  friends  than  they  will  make  ?  Did  it  never  occur 
to  you — setting  the  ethical  question  aside — that  it  might  pay 
you  to  try  and  be  a  gentleman  ?" 

Sullivan  stood  patiently  and  heard  him  through. 

"  Aisy,  me  lad,"  said  he,  when  Horace  ceased;  "there  are 
not  many  men  as  could  talk  to  Tim  Sullivan  that  ways,  an'  I 
think  ye'll  be  afther  doin'  me  the  coortesy  to  believe  that  if  I 
don't  resent  it,  it  isn't  because  I'm  afraid  of  ye.  It's  because 
I  like  the  nerve  of  ye,  me  young  bantam,  an'  because  ye're  in 
the  right." 

The  Irishman  seated  himself  deliberately. 

"  Sit  down,  me  lad,"  he  said,  and  Horace  obeyed.  Sulli- 
van placed  a  hand  upon  his  knee.  "  I  like  the  nerve  of  ye,  I 
says,  and  I  like  yersilf.  Ye'll  lave  the  party,  av  coorse,  an' 
maybe  ye'll  jine  the  inimy  for  a  while.     But  ye  can't  stay 


UNSTABLE    AS    WATER  347 

with  thim,  for  ye'll  find  they're  as  rotten  as  us.  Thin  maybe 
ye'll  jine  a  new  party  that's  yet  to  be  formed — an'  formed  it 
will  be ;  but  whatever  party  ye  goes  to,  me  lad,  ye'll  be  a 
leader  of  it,  an'  ye've  got  a  great  career  ahead  of  ye.  Ye'll  go 
straight,  that  I  know.  An'  the  man  who  goes  straight  goes 
far." 

Horace's  lips  curled,  and  the  Irishman  saw  it. 

"  I  know  what  ye're  thinkin'  to  yersilf — that  Tim  Sullivan's 
a  quare  man  to  be  preachin' !  An'  maybe  he  is,  an'  maybe  he 
isn't.  We  learn  more  by  our  mistakes  than  by  our  successes, 
an'  it  may  be  that  Tim  Sullivan  knows  better  what  he  has  missed 
than  the  wurrld  gives  him  credit  for.  Ye  think  I'm  a  success? 
So  I  am.  I  have  made  me  way.  But  do  ye  think  I  never  lie 
awake  o'  nights  thinkin'  what  I  might  have  been  ?  I  bad  me 
choice,  to  go  right  or  wrong — to  take  the  long  road  or  the  short 
one.  An'  I  went  wrong.  I  was  young  then,  and  didn't  know 
what  I  know  now — that  I  had  success  in  me — an',  looked  at 
frontways,  the  long  road  seemed  the  short  one.  It's  different 
looked  at  from  behind.  It  isn't  brains  that  makes  a  man  govern 
men,  nor  education,  nor  money — it's  the  man  of  him."  Horace 
was  still  silent,  and  again  the  other  went  on.  "  I  had  the  man 
in  me,  but  I  took  the  wrong  road.  Ye've  taken  the  right  one. 
Had  I  chosen  as  ye  have  when  I  was  yer  age,  I'd  be  handlin' 
the  national  government  at  Washington  to-day  as  aisy  as  I  play 
with  the  City  Hall.  An'  ye  can  have  the  career  that  I  missed 
an'  more — ye  can  git  what  I  couldn't  have  touched.  Ye'll  pass 
maybe  from  one  party  to  another,  but  ye'll  never  be  in  the  same 
party  as  me.  We'll  be  agin  one  anither  to  the  end  hereafter; 
but  mind  this,  me  lad,  ye'll  rise,  an'  I  honor  ye,  an' — barrin'  poli- 
tics— if  ye  iver  need  a  friend  in  life,  Tim  Sullivan's  always  where 
ye  can  find  him." 

The  Irishman  had  risen  and  buttoned  his  coat.  Marsh  too 
stood  up,  and  the  two  faced  each  other  in  silence.  Then,  by  a 
sudden  impulse,  Horace  held  out  his  hand,  and  the  other  took  it 
with  a  grip  that  made  Horace's  fingers  crack ;  then  turned  upon 
his  heel  and  rolled  ponderously  away. 

"  The  man  of  him  " — the  Irishman  was  nearly  right ;  nor 
was  Horace  sure  that  the  Irishman's  estimate  of  his  poten- 
tialities was  exaggerated.     It  was  a  new  side  of  him  which 


348  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

Horace  had  just  seen — a  side  which  was  probably  exhibited  to 
few. 

As  for  Horace  himself — yes,  he  must  leave  the  party.  He  had 
already  recognized  it  without  definitely  formulating  the  fact  to 
himself.  It  was  the  end  of  a  dream  which  had  been  very  bright ; 
the  crumbling  of  castles  that  he  had  loved  to  live  in.  But  not 
the  end  of  the  dream,  perhaps.  The  material  that  he  had  been 
working  with,  and  believed  to  be  good  and  clean,  was  worth- 
less. The  smooth  clay  under  his  fingers  had  turned  to  dust  and 
refuse.  But  was  there  not  good  clay  somewhere  ?  Amphora 
coepit  institui  —  and  not  so  much  as  a  wretched  pitcher  had 
come  of  it.  But  would  the  shapely  vase  never  be  turned  ? 
Somewhere,  though  it  slumbered  deep,  the  American  people 
must  have  a  conscience.  Somehow  it  could — and  would — be 
touched.  They  did  not  understand  as  yet ;  they  did  not  see. 
They  were  too  busy  with  other  things.  But  if  there  is  one  les- 
son which  is  writ  large  in  the  history  of  the  nation  it  is  that 
when  once  the  people  are  awakened  and  see  and  understand, 
they  will  have  right.  Had  all  the  manhood  and  truth  left  the 
race  in  the  course  of  one  generation  ?  Under  the  lash  of  the 
labor  union,  had  the  working-classes  indeed  become  but  this 
mob  of  rioting,  drunken  fools  whom  Wollmer  juggled  with  ? 
Had  the  iron  of  the  ward  machine  so  eaten  into  the  soul  of  all 
classes  that  the  whole  people  were  no  more  than  these  puppets 
that  Sullivan  made  to  dance  ?  It  could  not  be.  When  the 
trumpet  had  called  before,  the  nation  had  answered.  And 
somewhere  the  same  stern  fibre  was  in  the  people — the  people 
whose  fathers  and  great-grandfathers  had  followed  Washington 
and  Grant. 

Meanwhile,  Horace  had  yet  two  speeches  to  make,  according 
to  the  programme  of  the  campaign ;  and  he  took  his  pen  and 
wrote  to  the  chairman  of  the  committee,  expressing  his  regret 
that  he  would  be  unable  to  fill  the  engagements.  He  wrote 
briefly,  assigning  no  reason  for  his  failure,  and  was  addressing 
the  envelope  when  there  reached  him  from  his  partner's  room 
a  sound  which  made  his  pulse  stand  still. 

Springing  from  his  chair,  he  hurried  to  the  door  communi- 
cating between  the  rooms.  Franklin,  in  the  outer  office,  had 
heard  the  sound  also,  and  wa9  close  at  Horace's  shoulder.    Hor- 


UNSTABLE    AS    WATER  349 

ace  knocked,  but  no  answer  came.  He  pushed  open  the  door 
and  entered.  The  shades  of  the  three  windows  had  been  low- 
ered, and  through  the  serai-opaque  fabric  the  light  came  thick 
and  yellow.  The  form  of  the  General,  seated  at  his  desk,  stood 
out  in  profile  silhouette  against  the  nearest  window.  He  was 
leaning  back  in  his  chair  with  his  head  sunk  upon  his  breast 
and  his  arms  hanging  listlessly  on  either  side,  as  if  he  had  fallen 
asleep  at  his  work. 

"General!"  Horace  called,  and  hurried  to  his  side.  But 
there  was  no  response.  Close  by  the  fingers  of  the  right  hand, 
where  it  had  slipped  upon  the  floor,  lay  a  pistol.  From  the 
closed  lips  of  the  drooping  head  blood  oozed,  clotting  the 
tufted  beard  and  trickling  across  the  white  expanse  of  shirt- 
front. 

"  Call  Dr.  Lawton  and  notify  the  police,"  Horace  said,  and 
Franklin  left  the  room. 

Marsh  took  his  partner's  wrist  to  feel  the  pulse,  but  he 
could  not  find  it.  He  shifted  his  fingers  and  held  his  breath, 
and  still  there  was  no  throb.  Again  and  again  he  tried,  but 
not  a  flutter  or  beat  of  life  was  there.  Horace  gently  let  the 
arm  down  to  hang  as  it  had  done  before.  He  raised  the  head 
slightly,  and  tucked  his  handkerchief  beneath  the  chin. 

Poor  gray  head !  Horace  looked  down  upon  it,  and  thought 
that  he  might  have  known  that  this  would  happen.  The  man 
who,  twenty-five  years  ago,  had  lacked  courage  to  face  his  petty 
creditors  in  the  small  New  Jersey  town  could  not  have  stood 
against  the  larger  shame  which  threatened  him  to-day.  It  was 
"  the  man  of  him  "  that  was  wanting.  "Unstable  as  water,  thou 
shalt  not  excel."  But  Horace  knew  the  kindness  of  his  heart 
and  loved  him.  Weak  he  had  been — too  weak  to  bear  the  bur- 
den of  his  own  mistakes — too  weak  to  resist  being  moulded  by 
stronger  fingers  to  whatever  form  of  good  or  ill  they  pleased. 
But  to  Horace  he  had  been  all  gentleness  and  consideration. 
In  the  matter  of  the  newspaper  article  Horace  knew  that  it 
was  not  his  partner  who  had  planned  and  done  the  wrong. 
In  everything  else  the  dead  man  had  been  to  his  young  part- 
ner lovable  and  full  of  kindly  thought ;  and  Horace  felt  that 
many  a  stronger  and  even  better  man  could  have  been  more 
easily  spared. 


350  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

On  the  General's  desk  lay  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  there 
was  writing.  It  was  signed  with  the  General's  name,  and 
Horace  leaned  over  and  glanced  at  it.  It  was  addressed  to 
"The  Democratic  State  Central  Committee  and  the  Members 
of  the  Democratic  Party"  —  a  brief  and  dignified  letter,  an- 
nouncing his  withdrawal  from  the  candidacy  for  the  governor- 
ship of  the  State. 

Franklin  re-entered  the  room. 

"  Did  you  get  the  doctor  ?"  Horace  asked.    The  other  nodded. 

"  Is  he  dead?"  he  whispered. 

Horace  bowed  his  head. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  doctor  arrived.  Death,  he  said,  had 
been  practically  instantaneous.  The  General  had  placed  the 
muzzle  of  the  pistol  in  his  mouth,  and  the  bullet  had  passed 
upward  into  the  brain. 

An  officer  of  the  police-force  came,  but  there  was  no  need 
of  an  inquest,  and  the  doctor  called  the  undertaker  over  the 
telephone. 

"  Had  General  Harter  any  relatives  ?"  asked  the  policeman. 

"  None  in  the  city,  I  believe,"  Horace  said.  "  But  he  may 
have  some  at  his  home  in  Massachusetts.  It  would  be  best  to 
communicate  with  the  chief  of  police  there,  and  I  will  tele- 
graph to  my  father,  who  lives  there  too.  But " —  and  Horace 
hesitated  —  "the  General's  name  was  not  Harter."  He  had 
drawn  the  officer  aside,  and  spoke  in  a  low  voice.  "  It  is  not 
generally  known,  and  I  only  learned  it  yesterday.  Please  say 
nothing  about  it  until  the  proper  announcement  has  been  made 
by  Mr.  Pawson,  the  attorney.  It  will  probably  be  made  to- 
day. Meanwhile  treat  my  information  as  confidential,  to  be 
used  only  in  your  telegram  to  the  Massachusetts  police.  His 
name  was  Harrington — William  Harrington.  He  was  born  at 
Lowell,  and  lived  there  till  he  was  twenty.  Then  he  moved  to 
Boston,  to  New  York,  and  then  to  Freehold,  New  Jersey,  where 
he  lived  for  some  years — until  he  came  West.  Perhaps  with 
this  information  you  can  find  his  relatives.  It  is  possible  that 
there  may  be  further  clews  among  his  papers ;  but  I  doubt  it, 
for  he  had  buried  his  old  life  deep.  The  only  person  in  these 
parts  who  knew  anything  of  his  past  is  dead  —  died  a  week 


UNSTABLE    AS    WATER  351 

Over  the  telephone  Horace  told  Pawson  what  had  happened, 
and  made  an  appointment  to  meet  at  the  other's  office  at  once 
and  decide  on  the  right  course  to  be  taken  in  regard  to  the 
public  announcement  which  would  have  to  be  made. 

The  undertaker  came  and  bore  the  body  away.  Horace 
wrote  a  short  note  to  Jessie,  telling  her  of  the  calamity,  and 
saving  that  he  might  be  later  than  he  had  hoped  to  be  in  see- 
ing her  that  afternoon.  Then  he  repaired  to  the  office  of  the 
firm  of  Pawson  &  Burt. 

There  was  not  need  of  much  deliberation.  To  Pawson,  the 
attorney,  was  intrusted  the  work  of  preparing  a  formal  state- 
ment of  the  facts,  which  would  be  given  to  the  press  for  pub- 
lication on  the  following  morning,  Horace  charging  himself 
with  the  office  of  breaking  the  news  to  Jennie  Masson  and  her 
sister.  Calling  a  cab,  he  drove  at  once  to  the  house  in  Fourth 
Street,  but  learned  that  the  sisters  were  both  away  from  home, 
the  elder  being  at  the  hospital.  This  was  well;  for  Horace 
had  intended  to  see  Harrington,  and  it  would  be  better  if  the 
story  could  be  told  to  the  two  together. 

Twenty  minutes  later  he  was  at  the  hospital,  where  Jennie 
was  sitting  by  her  lover's  bedside.  The  patient  was  doing  well, 
and  the  doctor  had  promised  that  he  should  be  about  again  in 
six  or  seven  weeks.  Harrington  greeted  his  friend  cordially, 
and  Horace  took  a  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  bed  to  that 
on  which  Jennie  was  sitting,  and  began  at  once  to  tell  his  story. 

He  told  of  his  partner's  death,  and  the  other  two  expressed 
their  sympathy.  Then  with  difficulty  Horace  narrated  the 
events  of  the  preceding  day.  When  he  mentioned  the  dead 
man's  real  name,  Jennie  started  as  if  to  speak ;  but  she  checked 
herself,  remembering  that  Charlie  as  yet  knew  nothing  of  the 
mention  of  the  name  of  Harrington  in  the  woman's  dying- 
words,  or  of  the  suspicion  which  it  had  brought  upon  himself. 
But  Horace  saw  that  her  eyes  danced  with  gladness,  and  tears, 
which  he  knew  were  tears  of  joy,  stole  down  her  cheeks.  Har- 
rington lay  and  listened  in  silence  until,  turning  suddenly  to 
Jennie,  he  said : 

"  That's  what  she  used  to  mean  by  '  the  other  Harrington 
fellow.'     How  queer!     You  remember,  don't  you?" 

And  Jennie  pressed  his  hand  for  an  answer. 


352  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

Then  Horace  went  on  to  tell  of  where  the  General  and  Mrs. 
Masson  had  first  met,  and  gave  the  details  of  the  General's  life 
as  he  himself  had  told  them — how  he,  too,  had  lived  in  Low- 
ell in  his  early  days,  and  how  he  drifted  away  and  wandered 
till  he  reached  Freehold. 

"  Freehold  !"  gasped  Harrington,  quickly.  "  Why,  it  can't 
be — but  it  must !  He  was  my  uncle  Will !  I  have  heard  my 
father  speak  of  him  fifty  times.  I  remember  seeing  him  as  a 
child.  He  was  my  father's  youngest  brother.  Pie  wandered 
off  to  make  his  fortune,  and  the  family  lost  all  track  of  him 
at  Freehold.     My  uncle  Will !" 

The  others  listened  in  silence. 

"Will  you  telegraph  to  my  father?"  he  said  to  Marsh. 
"  Tell  him  the  facts,  and  ask  if  the  body  shall  be  sent  home. 
They  will  probably  wish  it." 

"  And  how  amazingly  small  the  world  is,"  he  continued, 
turning  to  Jennie,  "  or  how  wonderfully  Providence  works. 
My  father's  brother  and  your  father's  wife — you  and  I !  But 
we  shall  be  luckier  and  happier  than  they.  They  are  dead 
now,  but — well,  I  think  I  am  stronger  than  he  was,  and  I  know 
you  are  better  than  she." 

Horace  soon  left  them  to  send  the  telegram  to  his  friend's 
father,  and  then,  it  being  now  after  two  o'clock,  stopped  to  take 
some  lunch.  His  meal  finished,  he  repaired  again  to  Pawson's 
office,  and  found  that  the  attorney  had  already  drafted  the  state- 
ment for  the  press.  The  two  went  over  it  together,  and  Hor- 
ace found  nothing  to  criticise.  Between  them  they  added  a 
paragraph  containing  the  news  of  the  dead  man's  relationship 
to  the  victim  of  the  strikers — a  detail  of  collateral  evidence 
which  completed  the  identification  of  the  deceased. 

"  As  for  the  moral  to  be  drawn  from  it  and  the  exoneration 
of  the  younger  Harrington,"  Pawson  said,  "  we  need  not  trouble 
ourselves.  I  have  seen  my  brother,  and  he  will  take  this  article 
up  to  Mallitt,  of  the  Republican,  himself,  and  talk  it  over  with 
him,  so  that  Mallitt  will  get  the  situation  in  all  its  bearings. 
My  brother,  I  think,  is  at  work  on  his  article  now.  But  what 
a  preposterous  outcome  it  is  !  This  woman  whom  the  strik- 
ers have  canonized — this  martyr  to  their  cause — died  only  of 
her  own  passion  for  greed,  because  she  would  not  forfeit  the 


UNSTABLE    AS    WATER  353 

chance  of  blackmailing  a  man  whom  she  professed  to  have 
loved !" 

"  It  is  about  as  near  the  truth  as  some  of  our  ideals  come," 
said  Horace. 

"  Have  you  heard,"  asked  Horace,  later,  "  whether  there  has 
been  any  collision  yet  between  the  troops  and  the  strikers  ?  I 
have  been  too  busy  to  think  of  it." 

"I  belie^e  not.  The  strikers  seem  to  have  disappeared. 
Whether  they  have  made  up  their  mind  to  keep  out  of  the  way 
of  the  troops,  or  whether  they  are  only  sleeping  off  their  liquor, 
I  don't  know.  I  suspect  that  it  is  the  latter,  and  that  there 
will  be  trouble  to-night." 

At  his  office  an  hour  later  Horace  found  a  message  from  the 
elder  Harrington,  asking  that  the  body  of  his  brother  be  sent  on 
to  Lowell  for  burial.  He  enclosed  the  telegram  in  a  note  to 
Harrington  at  the  hospital,  and  sent  word  to  the  undertaker. 
Then  at  last  he  found  himself  free  to  go  to  Jessie.  Reporters 
of  the  afternoon  papers,  he  was  informed,  had  been  looking  for 
him  all  day;  but  he  was  glad  to  have  escaped  them,  and  again 
entering  a  cab,  he  started  to  drive  to  Mr.  Holt's  residence. 

He  was  still  a  mile  from  his  destination  when  he  saw  the 
familiar,  square-set  figure  of  Judge  Jessel.  Bidding  the  driver 
draw  up  to  the  sidewalk,  Horace  asked  the  judge  whither  he 
was  bound,  and  learning  that  his  goal  was  the  same  as  his  own, 
made  room  for  him  in  the  cab. 

Judge  Jessel  had  already  learned  of  General  Harter's  death, 
and  he  expressed  his  condolences.  Horace  received  them  in 
silence. 

"But  the  greater  part  of  the  news,"  he  said,  "you  have  yet 
to  hear.  I  cannot  tell  it,  but  you  will  learn  it  from  the  papers 
in  the  morning." 

"  That's  one  of  the  meanest  things  I  know,"  said  the  judge — 
"  to  hint  at  a  story  and  withhold  it.  I  would  say  it  was  fem- 
ininely mean,  if  it  was  not  that  I  should  insult  Mrs.  Jessel  by 
suo-tfesting  that  she  could  do  such  a  thing.  She  is  almost  the 
only  woman  I  know  who  does  not.  But  I  am  not  sure  that 
the  authority  of  this  court  would  not  extend  to  making  you 
divulge." 

They  talked  for  a  while  of  the  outrage  against  Mr.  Holt,  and 

23 


354  MEN    BOKX    EQUAL 

Horace  felt  that  there  was  other  and  yet  greater  news  that  he 
longed  to  tell. 

At  last  the  judge  broached  the  subject  of  politics. 

"Have  you  thought  at  all,"  said  he,  "of  what  we  were  talk- 
ing of  at  the  club  the  other  day  ?  Has  the  course  of  the  strike 
made  any  impression  on  you  ?" 

"  Some,  perhaps,"  Horace  answered,  reluctantly  ;  "but  other 
things  have  made  more.  I  shall  probably  vote  with  you  next 
week — at  least,  I  shall  not  vote  with  the  Democrats  and  Popu- 
lists." 

"  That  is  good ;  then  you  must  vote  with  us.  We  are  not 
Republicans  this  year;  we  are  only  against  the  other  fellows. 
And  if  you  will  not  help  them,  then  you  must  help  us.  Not 
voting  at  all  would  be  helping  them." 

"  You  may  be  right,  but  I  am  not  quite  certain  yet."  And 
the  judge  thought  it  better  to  let  the  subject  drop. 

Outside  the  house,  as  they  arrived,  Horace  and  the  judge 
found  policemen  stationed  at  each  gate,  to  keep  away  the  idlers 
and  the  impertinent,  who  thronged  the  sidewalks  and  the  street. 
On  the  south  side,  where  the  explosion  had  occurred,  masons 
were  at  work.  Before  entering,  the  two  friends  walked  round 
to  the  scene  of  the  wreck,  and  here,  in  the  daylight,  even  though 
the  debris  had  been  removed,  the  terrific  violence  of  the  shock 
was  seen.  The  outer  wall,  from  side  to  side  of  the  study,  was 
entirely  gone,  and  a  broad  crack  ran  irregularly  upward  to  sev- 
eral feet  above  the  level  of  the  lower  story,  where  it  connected 
with  the  window  of  the  floor  above.  Downward,  however,  the 
chief  force  of  the  explosive  had  expended  itself.  The  floor  of 
the  study  was  not,  except  in  a  few  ragged  ends  of  projecting 
and  splintered  boards.  The  outer  wall  had  been  shattered  down 
to  the  level  of  the  lawn,  and  for  a  space  of  many  feet  the  gravel- 
walk  and  the  grass  beyond  were  torn  up.  The  floor  of  the 
study  had  been  some  four  feet  above  the  level  of  the  land  out- 
side, and  through  a  jagged  hole,  ten  feet  across,  the  basement 
beneath  was  laid  bare.  Here,  fortunately,  the  basement  was  no 
more  than  unoccupied  cellarage,  for  the  kitchen  and  laundry 
lay  on  the  north  side  of  the  house,  beneath  the  dining-room  and 
library. 

Within  the  house  other  callers  were  assembled.     Mrs.  Tisser- 


UNSTABLE    AS    WATER  355 

ton  was  there  and  Mrs.  Flail,  with  others  whom  Horace  knew 
but  slightly  or  was  little  interested  in.  Every  one  who  had 
the  excuse  of  a  calling  acquaintance  with  Miss  Holt  had  been 
that  day,  either  to  express  their  real  anxiety  or  gratify  their 
curiosity. 

Jessie's  greeting  to  Horace  was  very  sweet,  and  the  softest 
sympathy  was  in  her  eyes  as  she  spoke  of  his  partner's  death. 
She  thanked  him  charmingly  for  the  flowers  which  he  had  sent 
her  that  morning  with  his  note,  written  the  night  before,  and 
which  were  enthroned,  as  of  old,  in  the  great  Rookwood  vase — 
except  one  large  red  blossom,  which  Jessie  wore  upon  her  breast. 

In  the  pause  which  succeeded  the  greetings,  Mrs.  Tisserton, 
leaning  back  in  her  chair,  spoke  in  that  evenly  distinct  voice  of 
hers,  and  with  a  certain  frank  directness  of  expression  which 
she  had  and  which  people  who  did  not  like  her  said  came  very 
near  at  times  to  being  impertinent. 

"  Do  tell  us,  Mr.  Marsh,  about  General  Harter,"  she  said. 
"  It  is  so  difficult  to  speak  about  dead  people  in  the  presence 
of  their  relations  or  friends.  One  never  knows  whether  they 
reallv  liked  the  deceased  or  not,  and  it  is  so  absurd  to  gush, 
when  you  don't  in  the  least  mean  it,  to  people  who  know 
you  don't  mean  it,  and  have  to  gush  themselves  because  it  is 
the  seemly  thing  to  do.  Please  give  us  the  key-note,  and  tell 
us  how  to  pitch  our  condolences.  Did  you  really  care  for 
General  Harter?" 

"  I  cared  for  him  very  much,"  said  Horace,  gently.  "  We 
worked  together  in  politics,  as  you  know,  and  as  a  partner 
and  a  friend  he  had  my  deep  affection  and  regard." 

Jessie  glanced  at  him  gratefully,  and  Judge  Jessel  relieved 
the  silence  which  threatened  to  follow  by  saying: 

"  He  was,  on  the  whole,  a  good  man.  He  lacked  some 
strand  of  manliness  which  ought  to  have  been  twisted  into 
his  being,  and  had  he  had  it  he  might  have  been  great — 

'"Had  I  been  two,  another  and  myself, 

Our  head  would  have  o'erlooked  the  world.' 

But  without  it  he  was  still  a  man  to  be  respected  and  loved. 
His  heart  was  large,  and,  left  to  himself,  he  was  anxious  to  do 
and  live  rightly." 


356  MEN    BOEN    EQUAL 

"  I  am  awfully  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Tisserton. 

The  conversation  turned  to  the  explosion  of  the  night  be- 
fore, and  Jessie  answered  many  questions,  until  the  subject  of 
the  strike  in  general  came  up,  and  Mrs.  Flail,  as  it  were,  took 
the  floor.  This  good  lady  seemed  to  think  that  in  some  way 
the  public  crisis  threw  a  responsibility  upon  her — that  upon 
her,  in  her  capacity  of  general  organizer,  devolved  the  duty 
of  restoring  public  peace.  She  talked  with  vigor  of  what 
she  had  done  and  what  she  proposed  to  do.  She  had  hoped 
to  inveigle  the  strikers  into  spending  their  idle  hours  in  the 
free  library,  because  reading  would  have  opened  their  minds 
and  been  so  good  for  them,  she  said,  and  they  never  had  time 
to  read  when  they  were  at  work ;  but  she  regretted  to  say 
that,  with  all  her  efforts,  the  attendance  at  the  library  had 
been  no  greater  since  the  strike  began  than  it  had  been  be- 
fore. She  had  striven  to  arouse  their  enthusiasm  in  behalf 
of  a  coffee-house  which  she  had  established  in  a  poor  part  of 
town,  and  which  some  day  would  grow  into  a  people's  palace, 
she  hoped ;  but  the  men  had  remained  deplorably  indiffer- 
ent to  the  seductions  of  coffee.  She  had  hoped  that  they 
would  accept  the  invitations,  which  had  been  extended  to  them 
in  the  advertising  columns  of  the  daily  papers,  to  attend  the 
various  classes  on  artistic  and  literary  subjects ;  but  she  had 
failed  so  far  to  identify  at  any  of  the  meetings  so  much  as  a 
single  striker. 

"  And  so  much  might  be  done,"  she  said,  "  if  only  others 
would  help.  I  cannot  do  it  all  alone.  The  softening  and  hu- 
manizing influences  of  art  and  literature  would  certainly  af- 
fect them.  I  have  seen  Mr.  Wollmer  several  times,  and  he 
thoroughly  agrees  with  me — and  yet  they  do  not  seem  to 
come." 

Horace  smiled  within  himself.  Judge  Jessel  fidgeted  im- 
patiently. Perhaps  it  was  owing  to  the  dissimilarity  between 
Mrs.  Flail  and  his  beloved  wife ;  but  for  some  reason  the 
judge,  as  Horace  knew,  had  only  an  indifferent  estimate  of 
Mrs.  Flail.  There  was  malice  in  his  voice  and  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye  as  he  asked : 

"  By-the-way,  Mrs.  Flail,  how  did  the  soup-kitchen  prosper?" 

"  It  did  not  prosper,"  replied  that  lady,  reluctantly.     "  It 


UNSTABLE    AS    WATER  357 

seemed  as  if  these  men  positively  preferred  what  is  known,  I 
believe,  as  the  *  free  lunch'  at  the  saloons  to  a  wholesome 
bowl  of  soup  at  the  kitchen.  A  few  came  at  first,  but  the 
number  decreased  every  day,  and  we  have  converted  the 
kitchen  into  a  moral  parlor." 

"  What  was  it  that  they  did  not  like  ?  Did  you  have  any 
regulations  ?" 

"  None  at  all.  They  were  made  to  wash,  and  brush  their 
hair,  and  wait  until  all  were  ready.  Then  they  marched  in 
in  two  rows  to  the  dining-room,  and  stood  up  while  prayers 
were  said — just  short  prayers,  you  know,  only  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes.  Then  they  were  served  in  turn,  and  all  waited  till 
the  last  had  finished,  wThen  prayers  were  said  again." 

"  What  is  a  moral  parlor  ?" 

"  It  is  a  place  with  chairs  and  tables  and  good  books  and 
papers — not  daily  papers,  you  understand,  but  instructive  and 
edifying  publications  which  will  be  of  benefit  to  them.  Then 
we  permit  dominos  and  spillikens  for  the  men  to  play  with." 

"  Are  they  allowed  to  smoke  ?" 

"  Oh  no." 

"  Does  anybody  come  ?" 

"  Very  few  come,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  It  really  seems  im- 
possible to  do  anything  to  help  them.  If  only  we  could  reach 
them  and  talk  to  them  and  reason  with  them.  The  pastors 
have  been  very  kind.  Either  Dr.  Jones  or  Dr.  Flodder  or 
Dr.  Tomkins  is  at  the  parlors  every  evening,  prepared  to 
speak  to  them  in  an  informal,  friendly  way.  But  even  if 
there  is  any  one  there,  they  usually  go  out  when  the  exhor- 
tation begins." 

"  And  the  men  really  prefer  the  saloons  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Tis- 
scrton,  as  she  lay  back  and  looked  at  Mrs.  Flail  through  half- 
closed  eyes.  "Thev  are  allowed  to  smoke  there,  are  they 
not?" 

"  I  believe  so."  Then  Mrs.  Flail  made  bold  to  do  a  thing 
that  she  had  been  longing  to  attempt  for  half  an  hour. 
"  Judge  Jcssel,"  she  said,  "  could  I  induce  you  to  come  and 
speak  at  our  parlor  some  evening?  I  think  they  would  listen 
to  you  if  they  will  not  to  the  ministers." 

"  On  certain  conditions,  I  would  gladly,"  said  the  judge. 


358  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

"  If  you  will  take  away  your  edifying  publications,  and  put 
in  their  places  the  daily  papers  and  the  comic  weeklies ;  if 
you  will  have  music  instead  of  preaching  in  the  evenings — 
with  some  one  to  sing  a  comic  song,  and  let  the  crowd  join 
in  the  chorus ;  if  you  will  let  them  smoke — give  them  free 
tobacco,  if  possible — you  will  have  a  thousand  men  there  every 
night  within  two  weeks,  and  then  I  will  gladly  come  and  talk." 

But  Mrs.  Flail  shook  her  head. 

"  That  would  be  so  demoralizing,"  she  said. 

"  Don't  you  think,"  said  Jessie,  "  that  it  is  much  easier  to 
get  people  to  do  what  you  want  them  to  do,  if  you  begin  by 
letting  them  do  what  they  want  to  do  first  ?" 

"  But  there  are  things  that  you  cannot  let  them  do." 

"  Such  as  smoking  and  reading  the  daily  papers  ?"  suggested 
Mrs.  Tisserton. 

The  judge  now  rose  to  go,  and  at  the  signal  others  left. 
One  by  one  they  went  away,  till  at  last  Horace  was  alone 
with  Jessie. 

"  Where  are  Miss  Willerby  and  Miss  Caley  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Grace  is  up-stairs  writing  letters.  Miss  Caley  has  gone 
home." 

"  What,  back  to  Chicago  !    Why  ?" 

"  She  thought  that  there  was  danger  in  the  house  here, 
and — and  her  mother  would  not  like  her  staying.  She  was 
really  awfully  frightened,  poor  girl." 

"  And  Barry  V  Horace  suggested. 

"  I  think  that  is  all  over  for  good,"  Jessie  answered.  "  I 
gathered  so  from  what  Mary  said." 

"  Miss  Willerby  is  not  going  away  ?" 

"  Oh  no.  She  refuses  to  go  till  I  turn  her  out.  She  is 
such  a  dear  girl !" 

"Did  she  guess  anything  last  night?"  he  asked. 

"  I  am  afraid  she  did,"  laughed  Jessie. 

"  Did  she  say  anything  ?" 

"  She  said  a  great  deal." 

"  And  what  did  you  tell  her  ?" 

"  I  told  her  just  what  you  would  have  wished  me  to  tell 
her — very  much  the  same  things  as  you  told  me  on  the  door- 
step last  night." 


UNSTABLE    AS    WATER  359 

Horace  could  not  answer,  but  only  raised  her  hand  silently 
to  his  lips,  and  wondered  if  this  were  possible.  That  he  could 
have  won  her  was  wonderful  enough — that  she  should  pas- 
sively consent  to  be  his.  But  that  his  love  could  mean  to  her 
the  happiness  that  hers  brought  to  him — that  was  as  yet  un- 
believable. For  Horace  Marsh  had  that  clean  reverence  for 
womanhood  which  every  pure  man  has,  and  which  forbids 
him  to  believe  that  a  woman  can  wish  for  a  man  as  a  man 
wishes  for  her. 


XXVIII 

REAPING    THE    WHIRLWIND 

As  Pawson  had  told  Horace,  no  collision  occurred  between 
the  strikers  and  the  troops  during  the  day.  The  affairs  of  the 
city  flowed  in  the  ordinary  channels ;  the  electric  cars  ran  un- 
molested, and  outwardly  the  town  was  at  peace.  There  were 
those  who  said  that  the  governor  had  acted  with  unwarrantable 
haste  in  responding  so  promptly  to  the  request  of  a  sheriff  who 
had  but  lost  his  head ;  but  the  majority  of  the  citizens  took 
comfort  in  the  knowledge  that  the  militia  were  at  hand.  The 
soldiers  themselves  had  gone  quietly  into  camp  at  two  different 
points  in  the  city  —  five  companies  being  camped  on  some 
vacant  ground  not  far  from  the  central  barns  of  the  street- 
railway  company,  and  the  other  three  companies  nearer  to  the 
heart  of  the  town,  in  the  railway-yards  near  the  Union  station. 

It  was  dusk  before  news  came  that  the  strikers,  gathered  in 
their  usual  haunts,  were  showing  symptoms  of  reviving  turbu- 
lence. A  car  running  out  to  the  steel-works  was  attacked,  and 
the  engineer  brutally  beaten.  The  street-railway  company 
again  suspended  the  service,  and  called  all  cars  into  the  barns. 
Indefinite  rumors  of  minor  outrages,  which  the  police  were 
unable  to  prevent,  came  at  intervals,  and  the  militia,  under 
arms,  stood  ready  to  march  at  a  minute's  notice.  Then  came 
the  definite  news  that  a  large  body  of  strikers — estimated  at 
about  a  thousand  men,  chiefly  Poles  and  Bohemians  —  had 
collected  in  "  The  Pit,"  and,  inflamed  with  liquor,  were  on  their 
way  southward,  with  the  avowed  purpose  of  demolishing  the 
central  barns  and  killing  any  soldiers  who  attempted  to  bar 
their  progress.  The  mob  was  advancing  by  Harrison  Avenue, 
and  would  presumably  follow  that  thoroughfare  till  reaching 
Thirteenth  Street. 


REAPING    THE    WHIRLWIND  361 

Silently  in  the  darkness  of  the  early  November  night  three  of 
the  companies  at  the  main  camp  fell  in  and  marched  to  Thir- 
teenth Street,  then  swung  eastward  to  meet  the  advancing  mob. 
At  some  distance  from  the  junction  with  Harrison  Avenue  the 
noise  of  the  shouting  of  the  rabble  came  to  them  on  the  night 
air.  A  square  farther  on  the  order  was  given  to  halt,  and,  as 
they  stood,  the  roar  from  the  east  grew  louder,  till  at  last,  three 
hundred  yards  ahead,  the  front  of  the  mob  came  round  the 
corner — a  black,  moving  mass,  with  here  and  there  a  waving 
torch. 

They  did  not  at  first  discover  the  soldiers,  drawn  in  close 
ranks  across  the  road,  but  came  howling  and  laughing  and 
shouting  forward.  Colonel  Gray  had  advanced  some  twenty 
paces  ahead  of  his  men,  and  stood  with  the  sheriff  by  his  side. 
The  mob  was  less  than  one  hundred  yards  distant  now. 

"  Halt !"  commanded  the  colonel. 

At  the  same  moment  it  seemed  that  the  strikers  became 
aware  of  the  presence  of  the  militia.  The  front  ranks  wavered 
and  stood  still,  and  the  shouting  died  away.  In  the  compara- 
tive silence  the  voice  of  the  sheriff  made  itself  heard,  command- 
ing them,  in  the  name  of  the  law,  to  disperse  and  keep  the 
peace.  But  as  he  spoke,  mutterings  that  swelled  to  an  angry 
clamor  arose  from  the  rear  of  the  mob,  who  had  learned  what 
it  was  that  had  caused  their  van  to  halt,  and  in  the  clamor  the 
sheriff's  voice  was  drowned.  The  weight  of  those  pushing  be- 
hind forced  the  leaders  of  the  mob  onward,  and  bit  by  bit 
the  space  between  the  two  forces  lessened. 

The  streets  were  dimly  illuminated  by  electric  arc  lights 
which  hung  at  every  crossing.  Under  one  of  these  lights  stood 
the  two  figures  of  the  colonel  and  the  sheriff.  The  white  glare 
of  the  next  light  fell  upon  the  advancing  column  of  the  strikers, 
showing  a  ragged  and  uneven  line  of  figures;  and  among  them, 
in  the  very  front,  could  be  seen  the  forms  of  women.  In  the 
light  the  crowd  seemed  for  a  moment  to  halt,  but  again  the 
weight  behind  pushed  forward  until  the  two  figures,  standing 
alone,  were  almost  equidistant  from  the  opposing  bodies.  On 
both  sides  of  the  street  windows  were  open,  and  the  white 
faces  of  men  and  women  and  children  looked  on  in  silence. 

Above  the  angry  uproar  of  the  advancing  mob  the  strong 


362  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

voice  of  the  colonel,  commanding  them  to  halt,  rang  out,  and  for 
a  moment  there  was  silence. 

"If  you  continue  to  advance,  I  shall  be  compelled  to  com- 
mand my  men  to  fire.  I  command  you — I  implore  you — to 
obey  the  sheriff  and  the  law,  and  to  disperse." 

"  Stand  aside  !"  cried  a  woman's  voice  shrilly.  "  Stand  aside 
and  let  us  pass.  We  have  a  right  to  parade  the  streets,  and 
if  you  don't  let  us  pass  we'll  sweep  your  boys  aside." 

Shouts  of  approval  greeted  the  speaker,  and  the  colonel  and 
the  sheriff  strove  in  vain  to  make  themselves  heard.  Yard  by 
yard  the  disorderly  front  of  the  strikers  drew  nearer,  and  slowly 
the  colonel  and  the  sheriff  fell  back.  At  last  they  were  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  level,  immovable  ranks  of  the  waiting  soldiers, 
and  there  was.  nothing  but  the  stretch  of  the  street  between  the 
forces  and  the  waiting  faces  of  the  watchers  at  the  windows 
on  either  side. 

Silently  the  front  rank  of  the  soldiers  dropped  upon  its 
knees.  There  were  sick  hearts  and  swimming  heads  in  the 
ranks,  for  they  were  only  boys — boys  from  the  bank  and  the 
office  and  the  store ;  but  they  obeyed  the  words  of  command 
and  behaved  like  men.  Already  the  leaders  of  the  mob  were 
approaching  the  lamp  where,  but  a  few  moments  before,  the 
colonel  and  the  sheriff  had  stood,  and  in  the  pale  light  the 
individual  faces  and  figures  could  be  plainly  seen.  Stones  and 
other  missiles  now  began  to  reach  the  soldiers  where  they  wait- 
ed. Some  struck  them,  and  others  fell  short  or  flew  overhead. 
Then  from  one  side  of  the  strikers'  line  came  a  flash  and  the 
sharp  report  of  a  revolver.  Another  followed,  and  another ;  and 
the  soldiers  waited  in  silence. 

Suddenly  one  of  the  men  in  the  front  rank,  as  the  irregular 
firing  from  the  mob  went  on,  leaped  to  his  feet,  spun  round, 
and  with  a  shriek  fell  full  length  in  the  roadway  before  his 
comrades. 

"  Steady,  boys  !"  called  the  colonel,  and  a  howl  went  up  from 
the  mob,  who  had  seen  the  poor  lad  fall.  And  still  the  dark 
mass  drew  nearer,  until  at  last,  reluctantly  but  firmly,  came  the 
command : 

"  Ready  !     Aim  !     Fire  !" 

In  an  instant  from  side  to  side  of  the  street  broke  out  the 


REAPING    THE    WHIRLWIND  363 

rippling  line  of  flames,  and  the  crash  of  muskets  filled  the  air. 
As  the  reports  died  away  there  arose  from  the  mob  in  front  the 
shrieks  and  screams  of  the  wounded,  the  cries  of  the  terror- 
stricken,  and  the  curses  and  shouts  of  wrath.  On  the  ground 
in  front  of  the  line  of  the  strikers  those  at  the  windows  could 
see  dark  forms  stretched — some  struggling,  and  some  still  for- 
ever. The  crowd  wavered  aud  yelled,  but  neither  retreated  nor 
advanced. 

"  Good  God !  they  will  not  need  another  volley !"  groaned 
the  colonel. 

But  even  as  he  spoke  the  black  mass  surged  forward,  and, 
with  scarcely  twenty  paces  separating  them  from  the  muzzles 
of  the  muskets,  the  word  to  fire  was  given  again.  Again  the 
quivering  line  of  tire  blazed  out,  and  the  crash  of  the  discharge 
— so  infinitely  more  terrible  here  in  the  confined  streets  of  a 
city  than  on  the  open  fields  of  war — rang  out.  And  now  as 
the  smoke  cleared  the  ground  was  covered  with  writhing  forms, 
and  the  colonel,  sick  at  heart,  said  to  himself,  "  Surely  that  is 
enough !" 

And  the  mob  no  longer  advanced.  The  shouting  and  olamor 
from  the  rear  grew  less  as  those  behind,  chilled  at  last  and 
panic-stricken,  fled— fled  by  the  way  they  had  come,  and  up 
side-streets  and  into  alleys.  The  dark  lines  of  the  soldiers  stood 
stretched  across  the  street  as  the  minutes  passed,  until  where 
the  mob  had  been  there  was  no  man  standing,  but  only  the 
dark  masses  of  the  forms  upon  the  ground.  Then  the  word  to 
advance  was  given,  and  at  last  the  soldiers  moved  forward — 
no  longer  to  deal  death,  but  to  pass  among  the  dead  and  the 
wounded,  and  do  what  they  could  to  help  and  save. 

Already  ambulances  were  arriving,  and  from  every  house  and 
all  directions  men  and  women  poured,  until  the  militia  were 
compelled  to  make  a  cordon  across  the  street  in  both  directions, 
and  hold  the  people  back  with  the  bayonets. 

In  all,  at  the  two  volleys,  forty  of  the  mob  had  fallen,  aud 
of  these  nineteen  were  dead.  And  two  of  the  dead  were 
women. 

Horace,  driving  across  town  from  the  hospital — where  he  had 
been  again  to  visit  Harrington  and  consult  with  him  in  regard  to 
the  disposition  of  his  uncle's  body— to  call  on  Miss  Holt,  heard 


364  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

the  firing,  and,  bidding  the  driver  to  take  him  to  where  it  came 
from,  reached  the  spot  while  the  dead  and  wounded  were  being 
gathered  upon  the  ambulances. 

Arriving  at  Jessie's  house,  he  found  that  the  news  had  al- 
ready reached  her  by  telephone,  and  she  met  him  with  tears  in 
her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  Horace,"  she  sobbed,  "  it  is  so  terrible !  That  they 
should  die  is  bad  enough,  but  that  they  should  be  killed  in  a 
quarrel  with  father!  What  have  we  done?  How  could  we 
help  it?  Are  we  to  blame?  It  seems  somehow  as  if  we  must 
be ;  but  how  ?     What  could  we  do  ?" 

"  Nothing,  darling — nothing  in  the  world,"  he  said,  as  he 
took  her  in  his  'arms.  "  There  could  not  be  a  kinder,  juster 
man  than  your  father,  nor  a  sweeter,  tenderer  woman  than  his 
daughter.  I  do  not  know  your  father's  affairs ;  but  I  know 
that  he  can  only  have  sunk  money  without  return  in  the  steel 
company,  and,  I  fancy,  in  the  street-railway  company  as  well. 
He  has  done  everything  that  a  just  man  could  do.  The  com- 
panies have  paid  good  wages  so  long  as  they  could  get  the 
money  to  pay  them ;  and  when  they  cannot  get  the  money, 
what  are  they  to  do  ?  The  men  must  either  take  less  or  cease 
to  work." 

"But  is  there  no  help  for  it  ?  I  know  that  the  companies 
could  not  pay  them  what  they  wanted.  Father  went  over  it 
all  with  me.  If  he  had  taken  everything  he  had  and  turned 
it  over  to  the  company  —  all  his  real  estate,  and  stocks,  and 
this  house,  and  everything — it  would  only  have  been  enough 
to  pay  them  for  another  month  or  six  weeks.  He  could  have 
beggared  himself,  and  it  would  have  done  no  good.  But 
what  is  so  terrible  is  that  the  men  should  not  understand 
this.  When  they  are  unjustly  treated,  I  can  see  how  they 
might  strike ;  but  when  it  is  the  impossible  that  confronts 
them,  is  there  no  way  of  telling  them  so  ?  Is  there  no  reason 
in  them  ?     Was  there  nothing  we  could  have  done  ?" 

"Nothing.  The  blood  is  not  on  your  father's  head  —  nor 
yet  on  the  heads  of  the  mass  of  the  men.  It  is  a  handful  of 
leaders  —  it  may  be  only  one  man  or  a  dozen  men  —  who 
stand  between  the  employers  and  the  men,  and  will  not  let 
them  know  the  truth.     These  leaders  make  their  living  by 


REAPING    THE    WHIRLWIND  365 

the  work.  They  saturate  the  men  with  false  teachings — 
teachings  of  the  tyranny  of  capital,  and  making  them  believe 
that  the  employer  is  their  natural  enemy.  Many  of  them, 
foreigners  who  have  already  drunk  in  the  doctrines  of  the 
bomb  in  Europe,  are  only  too  willing  to  lend  their  ear  to  the 
same  teachings  here.  And  of  the  rest,  some,  hearing  no 
other  side,  come  in  time  dully  and  passively  to  acquiesce  in 
what  is  told  them,  and  the  others,  conscious  of  their  own  in- 
dividual weakness  when  opposed  to  the  organization  of  the 
unions,  keep  their  peace,  and  dare  not  speak." 

"  But  is  there  no  help  ?  Will  there  be  no  end  to  this  ?  Is 
there  no  way  to  save  these  men  from  breaking  themselves 
against  the  wall  of  the  impossible,  and  giving  themselves  to 
be  shot  because  father,  and  men  such  as  he,  do  not  do  things 
which  they  cannot  do  ?  Is  there  no  way  to  teach  them  %  Is 
there  no  punishment  for  the  men  who  urge  them  on  ?" 

"  Not  as  yet.  Help  will  come.  In  time  the  nation  and 
the  world  will  recognize  that  the  man  who,  as  a  leader  of  a 
labor  order,  persuades  men  to  strike  and  to  riot  is  as  criminal 
in  his  anarchism  as  the  men  who,  under  the  shadow  of  the 
red  flag,  openly  advocate  the  use  of  dynamite  for  the  destruc- 
tion of  society.  It  will  come.  In  another  generation  the 
men  who  do  the  things  that  Wollmer  and  his  friends  have 
done  here  during  the  last  two  months  will  be  treated  as  the 
most  dangerous  criminals  —  far  more  destructive  of  society 
than  the  man  who  commits  an  individual  murder." 
"  But  why  is  it  not  so  now  ?" 

"  Because  these  same  men  have  votes— all  these  foreigners 
who  do  not  know  what  the  American  Constitution  means— and 
our  public  men  to-day  dare  not  speak  the  truth.  It  must  be 
a  slow,  slow  process;  a  process  of  education  — education  of 
these  men  themselves,  after  they  have  so  far  become  assimi- 
lated into  the  American  people  as  to  be  capable  of  education 
—and  still  more  an  education  of  the  larger  public,  an  awaken- 
ing of  its  conscience  to  the  foulness  of  public  things  and 
the  cowardice  of  public  men  to-day.  Then,  when  the  strong 
manhood  of  the  American  people  rises  and  asserts  itself, 
when  the  long  patience  of  the  nation  is  overborne,  and  the 
good  men  —  the  great  silent  mass  who  at  present  sit  back 


366  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

and  care  not — band  themselves  together  to  wipe  out  the  cor- 
ruption that  is  in  high  places,  and  the  ignorance  and  the 
cruelty  that  is  in  the  low,  and  carry  the  government  of  our 
country  back  to  the  high  principles  on  which  it  is  said  to 
be  founded ;  when  the  government  of  our  country  is  made 
again  in  fact  what  it  ought  to  be,  the  noblest  government  of 
earth,  instead  of  what  it  is,  one  of  the  clumsiest  and  most 
corrupt,  then — !  But  you  have  heard  me  preach  before. 
You  know  my  dreams." 

He  stopped,  smiling  at  the  wide,  earnest  eyes  which  looked 
into  his. 

"  But  they  are  not  dreams,"  she  said,  simply.  "  They  will 
be  found  true.  It  is  this  thing  that  is  the  dream  —  when 
men  lead  other  men  to  shed  blood  and  be  killed.  Forty 
men  wounded  !  Think  of  it !  Think  of  their  wives  and  chil- 
dren !  Oh,  it  is  too  horrible !  .  .  .  *  One  -  half  of  mankind 
against  the  other  half  ! '  " 

Later  in  the  night,  in  the  temporary  study  which  had 
been  arranged  in  one  of  the  bedrooms  on  the  second  floor, 
Horace  spoke  to  Mr.  Holt.  He  stated  his  case  very  simply, 
and  Jessie's  father  was  equally  simple  and  frank  in  his  reply. 
He  had  already  learned  to  have  a  high  regard  for  young 
Marsh.  This,  however,  was  a  matter  which  he  should  leave  to 
his  daughter.  There  were  certain  men  whom  he  should  do 
his  utmost  to  dissuade  Jessie  from  marrying  if  she  had  seen 
fit  to  choose  one  of  them  ;  but  he  knew  her  too  well  to  have 
had  any  fear  of  that.  If  she  loved  Horace  and  if  Horace 
loved  her  as  he  ought  to  love  her,  he,  Mr.  Holt,  would  be 
satisfied. 

Horace's  thanks  were  less  coherent  than  sincere.  Had  he 
followed  his  inclinations  he  would  have  danced  and  shrieked  ; 
but  as  it  was  he  said  only  the  commonplace  things,  and  said 
them  only  indifferently  well. 

But  as  he  walked  home  that  night  he  pondered  how  blest 
above  other  men  he  was.  The  rough  political  awakening 
that  he  had  received  was  bitter — infinitely  bitter  it  would 
have  been  but  for  this  new-found  happiness.  But  when  she 
was  won,  what  did  other  things  matter  ?  And  was  not  God 
good  ?     Had  he  himself  not  come  to  know  it  ?     It  could  not 


REAPING   THE    WHIRLWIND  367 

be  that  somewhere,  somehow,  the  political  dawn  was  not  at 
hand. 

And  he  remembered  some  words  of  Judge  Jessel:  "  It  is 
not  through  Populism  that  salvation  will  come.  It  is  more 
likely  to  be  through  the  reaction  against  Populism." 


XXIX 


ON    THE    SLEEPING-CAR 


The  platitudinist  and  the  preacher  love  to  dwell  upon  the 
insignificance  of  the  individual  man,  and  the  rapidity  with 
which  the  place  of  even  the  greatest  is  filled  after  he  has 
gone  and  his  world  adjusts  itself  to  his  absence.  But  never 
could  either  have  found  a  better  text  on  which  to  hang  a  ser- 
mon than  the  death  of  General  Harter. 

The  news  of  his  death  and  the  strange  story  which  in  con- 
nection therewith  was  given  to  the  public  could  not,  even  in 
the  presence  of  the  overshadowing  sensation  of  that  night 
battle,  fail  to  fill  men's  mouths  for  a  day.  But  his  party 
was  too  busy  hastening  to  select  his  successor  to  mourn  him, 
and  in  these  last  days  before  the  election  things  moved  too 
rapidly  for  the  public  to  remember  a  dead  man  long. 

Horace,  reading  the  World  in  the  morning,  found  a  pretty 
compliment  to  himself  when  the  editor  suggested  that,  did 
not  his  youth  forbid  his  election  to  the  office,  there  was  no 
man  in  the  party  who  could  probably  so  surely  command  the 
support  of  all  men  in  the  party  as  Horace  Marsh.  He  being 
impossible,  the  logic  of  the  situation  would  seem,  the  paper 
said,  to  point  to  Mr.  Timothy  Sullivan  as  the  natural  candi- 
date; and  Horace,  reading,  remembered  Sancho  Panza's  aph- 
orism that  "if  he  knew  how  to  make  his  Christ -cross  it 
would  be  enough  for  a  good  governor."  Mr.  Timothy  Sul- 
livan, however,  it  appeared,  had  already  been  consulted,  and 
had  absolutely  declined  to  permit  his  name  to  be  used.  Un- 
der these  circumstances,  the  World  hoped  that  the  party 
would  prevail  on  Major  Bartop  to  accept  the  nomination  at 
the  eleventh  hour. 

The  article  was  evidently  written  after  consultation  among 


ON   THE    SLEEPING-CAR  3Gy 

the  party  leaders — probably  chiefly  at  Sullivan's  dictation,  and 
Horace  was  sure  that  the  Irishman  was  answerable  for  the 
compliment  to  himself — and  was  intended  to  arouse  a  public 
sentiment  in  favor  of  Major  Bartop  which  the  major  would 
be  unable  to  withstand.  But  Horace  knew  that  the  major 
would  refuse  to  be  a  candidate  ;  and,  courteously  but  con- 
temptuously, he  did. 

At  length,  in  despair,  the  leaders  pitched  upon  one  Grier- 
son,  an  unknown  man  whose  only  merits  were  that  he  had 
never  been  anything  but  a  Democrat,  and  had  not  character 
enough  to  have  made  enemies. 

It  was  not  Grierson's  fault  that  he  was  not  elected.  Out 
of  a  forlorn  hope  of  such  exceeding  forlornness,  not  even  the 
most  consummate  soldier  could  have  carved  success.  The 
advocacy  of  the  strike,  with  its  damning  and  bloody  out- 
come, must  have  ruined  any  party,  even  if  the  party  were 
not  shattered  on  the  eve  of  battle  by  the  death  of  its  standard- 
bearer. 

And  if  the  strike  killed  the  party  which  had  supported  it, 
the  strike  itself  ended  with  those  volleys  fired  on  Thirteenth 
Street. 

For  some  days  the  strikers  were  cowed  and  terrified. 
Then,  in  the  rush  of  election,  they  found  themselves  forgot- 
ten by  the  public,  and  when  the  election  was  over  they  had 
no  longer  any  friends.  No  man  now  had  any  object  to 
gain  by  conciliating  them,  and  the  outburst  of  the  awakened 
public  indignation  was  too  strong  for  any  man  in  mere 
quixotism  to  offer  himself  as  its  victim.  So  far  as  the  em- 
ployes of  the  steel  company  were  concerned,  they  had  no 
longer  anything  to  strike  for.  The  works  were  destroyed, 
and  there  was  no  possibility  of  employment.  Even  if  the 
company  should  decide  to  rebuild,  it  would  be  years  before 
any  workmen  of  the  class  of  the  strikers  could  be  needed. 

Late  on  the  night  of  the  election,  as  soon  as  it  was  evident 
that  all  chance  of  Democratic  victory  was  gone,  Wollmer  left 
the  city.  He  had  nothing  to  gain  by  staying.  There  would 
be  no  more  subsidies  forthcoming  from  the  public  treasury ; 
and  possibly  there  would  be  investigations,  and  possibly  also 
— a  consideration  which  would  probably  weigh  more  heavily 

24 


370  MEN    BORN    EQUAL 

with  the  labor  leader — individual  strikers,  learning  how  they 
had  been  duped  and  played  with,  might  seek  a  more  imme- 
diate and  violent  satisfaction  than  the  course  of  the  law 
would  afford. 

By  the  clews  furnished  by  Lizzie  Silling,  the  police  were 
enabled  to  capture  and  convict  the  men  who  were  directly 
responsible  for  the  outrage  on  the  house  of  Mr.  Holt.  Others 
of  the  strikers  also  who  were  identified  as  leaders  of  the  mob 
in  the  conflict  with  the  militia  were  found  guilty  of  the 
death  of  the  one  soldier  who  died  of  his  wounds — the  man 
from  the  front  rank,  who  had  been  the  first  to  fall  on  that  ghast- 
ly night — and  were  sentenced  to  long  terms  of  imprisonment. 

And  so,  as  is  the  way  of  strikes,  the  great  mass  of  men 
found  themselves  homeless  and  workless  and  hungry,  objects 
of  public  charity.  A  few,  perhaps  among  the  most  innocent 
at  first,  but  of  weaker  nature  and  more  easily  influenced, 
afterwards  thrust  forward  into  the  position  of  leaders  and 
made  to  bear  the  burden  of  the  bloodshed  and  the  guilt,  paid 
for  it  by  wearing  out  their  lives  in  jail.  The  public  suffered, 
directly  by  the  destruction  of  property  and  the  temporary  dis- 
turbance of  commerce  and  public  affairs,  and  ten  times  more 
indirectly  by  the  annihilation  of  the  great  industry  of  the 
steel-works.  The  only  men  who  profited  were  the  few  lead- 
ers— Wollmer  chiefly,  and  doubtless  others  in  their  degree — 
who  had  sold  the  men  who  were  credulous  enough  to  believe 
them,  and  who  escaped  with  such  booty  as  they  had  made  to 
enjoy  it  in  such  peace  as  their  consciences  would  permit. 

Six  months  afterwards,  when  the  strike  and  all  that  be- 
longed to  it  had  ceased  to  be  talked  about  except  when  some 
wanderers  found  themselves  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
gaunt  ruins  of  the  works  or  among  the  deserted  portions  of 
Milltown,  there  was  a  double  wedding.  Horace,  who  was 
not  to  be  married  for  a  month  yet,  was  able  to  keep  his 
promise  and  act  as  best  man  for  Harrington,  -who  had  recov- 
ered from  his  injuries  as  satisfactorily  as  the  surgeons  had 
dared  to  hope ;  and  at  the  altar  at  which  Jessie  Masson  became 
Mrs.  Harrington,  Weatherfield  also  took  her  sister  Annie  for 
his  wife. 


ON   THE    SLEEPING-CAR  371 

The  congregation  in  the  little  church  —  the  church  where 
Harrington  had  first  seen  Jennie  —  saw  that  there  was  a 
minute's  pause  before  Weatherfield  placed  the  ring  on  An- 
nie's finger.  They  could  see  also  that  it  was  because  Annie 
laid  her  hand  on  the  bridegroom's  arm  and  asked  him  some 
question,  to  which  he  replied ;  but  not  even  the  minister 
caught  the  words,  so  low  were  they  spoken. 

"  Once  more,  Tom,"  she  had  said,  "  and  for  the  very  last 
time — you  are  sure  ?  Now  that  you  know  everything,  you 
are  willing  to  trust  me  and  take  me  as  I  am  ?" 

"  I  am  quite  sure,"  was  all  he  said  ;  and  a  minute  later  she 
was  his  wife. 

The  Weatherfields  stayed  quietly  at  home  after  the  wed- 
ding, and  Tom  went  industriously  on  with  the  daily  work  of 
the  printing-office.  Harrington,  however,  took  his  wife  back 
to  Massachusetts  to  introduce  her  to  his  family.  A  few 
nights  after  their  return — they  had  been  away  for  a  month — 
Horace  and  Barry  called  at  their  cosey  little  home,  and  they 
talked  of  many  things.  Suddenly,  after  a  pause,  Harrington 
exclaimed  : 

"  Oh,  by-the-way,  I  forgot  all  about  Blakely.  You  know 
we  were  on  the  train  that  night  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Horace,  "  I  had  forgotten  it,  if  I  ever  knew  it." 

"  Yes ;  and  it  was  very  queer." 

11  In  what  wav  ?"  Horace  asked.  "  Nobody  saw  him  fall, 
did  they  ?" 

"  I  am  not  quite  sure,"  said  Harrington,  enigmatically. 

His  wife  had  left  the  room,  and,  leaning  forward,  he  told 
the  tale  so  far  as  he  had  anything  to  tell. 

"  Jennie  and  I,"  he  said,  "  were  sitting  in  a  section  about 
the  middle  of  the  car,  sitting  facing  each  other,  I  with  my  back 
to  the  engine.  In  the  next  section  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
car — so  that  they  were  behind  Jennie  as  she  sat,  but  so  that  I 
was  facing  Mrs.  Carrington — were  the  Carringtons.  I  happened 
to  be  looking  at  her  when  I  saw  her  apparently  catch  the  eye 
of  somebody  behind  me — somebody,  as  I  supposed,  who  was 
entering  the  car.  You  know  the  kind  of  look — a  sudden 
glance  of  secret  recognition  and  no  more.  I  heard  some  one 
coming  along  the  aisle  behind  me,  and  I  saw  Mrs.  Carrington 


372  MEN    BOKN    EQUAL 

raise  her  eyes  to  hirn  again.  The  man  came  alongside  of  me 
and  passed  on,  and  then  I  saw  it  was  Blakely.  He  did 
not  speak  to  Mrs.  Carrington  or  she  to  him  ;  but  he  went 
straight  on  to  the  second  section  on  her  side,  so  that  he  was 
directly  behind  her.  Carrington,  all  this  time,  had  been  read- 
ing his  paper.  After  a  bit,  when  the  train  began  to  move,  he 
got  up  to  go  to  the  smoking-car,  and  then  he  saw  Blakely. 
He  leaned  over  and  said  something  to  his  wife,  and  she 
flushed  up  angrily.  Carrington  then  went  out.  I  suppose — let 
me  see — it  was  ten  minutes  afterwards  that  Blakely  went  out 
too.  This  time,  in  passing,  as  he  came  up  behind  Mrs.  Car- 
rington, he  stooped  slightly,  and  said  a  few  words  to  her 
in  an  undertone.  She  replied,  but  without  looking  up,  and 
Blakely  strolled  out  of  the  car  in  the  same  direction  as  Car- 
rington had  gone. 

"  I  had  happened  to  notice  it,"  said  Harrington,  resuming, 
"  but  did  not  think  much  of  it  all.  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
think  anything  of  it  now.  But  it  was  an  hour  and  a  half  or 
two  hours  later — nearly  ten  o'clock — and  we  were  waiting 
while  our  berths  were  being  made  up.  Jennie  was  sitting  in 
some  other  section,  among  a  lot  of  valises  and  things,  and  T 
was  standing  in  the  aisle,  leaning  against  a  seat  and  watching 
the  porter  at  work.  It  was  one  of  those  sixteen-section  cars, 
I  think  they  call  them,  that  they  run  now  on  the  trains  that 
have  a  regular  smoking-car  —  the  aisle,  you  know,  goes 
straight  through  at  the  end  out  to  the  vestibule,  instead  of 
kinking  round  a  corner  to  get  by  the  smoking-compartment, 
as  it  used  to  do.  You  can  look  straight  out  to  the  platform, 
as  you  can  in  a  day-coach,  from  the  centre  of  the  car.  It 
happened  that  I  turned  my  head  to  the  forward  end  of  the 
car,  and  my  eye  lighted  on  the  door  just  as  a  man  came  to 
the  glass  and  looked  in.  It  was  Carrington.  He  did  not 
come  in,  but  stayed  out  on  the  platform,  and  I  saw  him  open 
the  vestibule  door. 

"  Again  I  don't  think  I  thought  anything  of  it,  because  I 
turned  to  watch  the  porter.  A  few  minutes  afterwards  I 
happened  to  look  up  again,  and  Carrington  was  still  out  in 
the  vestibule.  I  looked  back  to  see  if  Mrs.  Carrington  had 
retired,  and  she  had.     Then  the  porter  finished  our  section, 


ON    THE    SLEEPING-CAR  373 

and  I  put  Jennie's  satchel  into  the  lower  berth  and  said  good- 
night to  her.     I  had  the  upper  berth  above  her. 

"  While  I  was  saying  good-night  I  was  conscious  of  hear- 
ing angry  voices.  I  was  too  much  occupied  with  my  first 
good-night  to  my  wife  to  pay  much  attention  to  them,  and  I 
know  that  I  had  a  sort  of  vague  idea  that  it  was  the  conduct- 
or swearing  at  the  brakeman  or  something.  A  minute  later, 
as  I  finished  buttoning  the  curtain  of  Jennie's  berth,  the  door 
at  the  end  of  the  car  was  opened,  and  Carrington  came  in.  I 
sort  of  squeezed  myself  against  the  berth  to  let  him  pass 
me. 

"  It  was  not  until  I  got  an  afternoon  paper  at  Buffalo  the 
next  day  that  I  saw  the  news  of  Blakely's  death.  They  said 
that  his  body  was  picked  up  at  a  point  where  the  train  passed 
at  ten  five.  I  know  that  when  I  took  out  my  watch  to  wind 
it  up  that  night  it  was  ten  twenty. 

"  Now  I  may  be  talking  about  nothing  at  all,  and  I  should 
never  think  of  mentioning  it  to  anybody  except  you  two  fel- 
lows, and  I  hope  you  won't  talk  to  any  one  else.  And  yet 
— did  you  ever  hear  any  gossip  about  any  trouble  between 
those  two,  either  about  Carrington's  wife  or  anything  else  ?" 

He  looked  at  Marsh  as  he  asked  the  question,  and  Marsh 
shook  his  head  and  said  "  Never  !" 

Which  was  true. 


THE   END 


By  BKANDER  MATTHEWS 


Vignettes  of  Manhattan.     Illustrated  by  W.  T.  Smedley. 
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By  KUTH  McENEKY   STUAET 


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They  all  are  simple,  pathetic,  and  full  of  humanity.  They  are  told  won- 
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ple—  brought  up  with  them — could  have  drawn  their  features  and  their 
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negro,  but  their  emotional  side.  "  The  Golden  Wedding  "  is  touching  in 
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The  various  experiences  and  events,  great  and  small,  that  carry  forward 
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